


The Measure of Trust

by Falke



Series: Finding Our Way [4]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Fluff, Minor Original Character(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-11 21:24:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 39,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7908136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falke/pseuds/Falke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Judy Hopps' family is <em>hard</em> sometimes: a complicated mess of love and sharing and compromise.</p><p>Finding a place for her fox in it - that's going to be even harder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is set post-canon. It adheres to [timeline](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1yPmpmdo39SmiRNC4BJVv2PAWi7fxBoP5FWba9n8s3qg/edit?pref=2&pli=1) as a direct sequel to the events of _[Blind Spots](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6528139/chapters/14934682)_ , _[It's not a Given, it's a Choice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7479207/chapters/16998234)_ and _[Someone to Catch me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7033186/chapters/16002682)_. I recommend reading them first for the full impact.
> 
> Enjoy!

**_One week ago._ **

It was quiet now, but for the beep of the machines hooked into her arm, and the soft whir of the climate control.

Judy's ears rang anyway, with the volume and conviction she'd surprised herself with and with the heavy thump of the door in its frame as it closed behind her parents.

But before she could even contemplate the searing anger properly, it lost out to the desperate loneliness that came out of nowhere. That had been inevitable. Judy expected it from the start. But the entirety of it, the magnitude - it was impossible to prepare for. The tears rolled down her cheeks.

How could they do this to her? To Nick? They had no right to take that step. No right to lock him away, to strip him from her like this. They refused to see what he meant to her. Wouldn't even consider that she was telling the absolute total truth when she said she loved him, that he loved her back, just as much. She couldn't 'wait until she'd had a chance to rest' to think anything over, because that knife hadn't done any damage at all to her mind. She knew exactly what she wanted, she didn't need to think about any of it - and her parents had gone to court to keep him from her when she needed him most.

Worse, Judy had no way to address it properly, not from a hospital bed. It demanded confrontation. All she had to do to reverse the order was go into the courthouse herself, and prove to the judges there she was of sound mind, that she didn't need protection from her friend, her partner, her lover-

And here she was, unable to walk more than a few steps at a time.

Now her injury did flare in pain, so severe and unexpected she tried to curl around it. Her paws cramped into fists and she had to focus on breathing.

It faded, eventually, and in its wake it seemed to have muted the thoughts that had piled through her mind in the minute or so she'd been alone. It left room for a new one; the one that mattered.

Did Nick even know what her parents had done?

The pain in her stomach was nothing, compared to how she had sat in the bed and watched his world fall apart around him. It was his nightmare: to have to suppress the urge to protect her that drove so much of what he did for her, while the world looked on and judged them for the decisions they made. In their nights together, the ones that already seemed so rare and fleeting, he apologized for how that fear made him act. For how he tried to keep the world from hurting her, even when it was impossible to stop all of it.

And that was the worst of it. It was bad enough that Nick had had to walk out on her now, because of what her father had done. But it was never supposed to be so permanent. Even with everything they'd gone through, the botched cases and the social missteps that nearly sent their bond spiraling out of their own control, Judy had, with Nick's support and love, been able to salvage it. Repair it. Keep it safe and make it stronger.

Now there was something in their way neither of them could do anything about. Nick would blame himself.

That fear crippled her, for longer than she cared to know. It only broke when there was a quiet tap and the door cracked again, this time to admit maybe the one person close to her right now who really didn't deserve to be sucked up in this at all. Judy swiped at her eyes.

"Hopps." Fangmire looked around the room as if checking it for other occupants.

"Captain? What are you doing here?"

"Chief sent me to keep an eye on things while Wilde works the field angles," he said.

That was a strange and inefficient use of a police captain. He didn't need to be here, not when there were duty officers galore to choose from back at the precinct. The suspicion settled in Judy's stomach, and she looked away so the tiger wouldn't see the pain in her expression.

He might not know it, but this was a direct result of her parents' actions. Nick couldn't be here - wouldn't risk the legal fallout of breaking that order, no matter how much it hurt - so Fangmire was here in his stead.

"You all right?" he asked. "Your parents cleared out in a hurry."

He must have had his own thoughts, his own guesses. But he wouldn't say anything. He was always so _careful_ about what he knew. And he knew a lot: From both the things she'd told him, and the things he'd witnessed in the moment. Judy felt obligated to spare him more of the same. She couldn't bear dragging him in any further, not when there was nothing he could really do to help.

She must have gotten that from Nick.

"I'm all right," she confirmed. "Sore and tired and frustrated because it's slow going, but I'm all right."

Fangmire looked sympathetic, and eyed the fluid drip in her arm. "Get some rest if you can, then. Are you all medicated for the night?"

"More than I'd like to be." Now that her heart rate was coming down a bit, Judy could indeed feel the drugs working on her. She didn't like them at all - they made her drowsy when she didn't want to be, which was most of the time - but she wasn't going to get much more done tonight. Not with the knowledge and fear chasing themselves around in her head.

"I have been stabbed and shot," Fangmire said. "Not both at once, mind. But believe me when I say the painkillers beat the alternative." He ducked his muzzle. "I'll be outside until 2300 if you need anything." He indicated her radio on the bedside table. "Channel six-two. Private nurse call button."

Judy felt the smile betraying her. "Thanks, Fang."

He slipped out and the door clicked and she was alone again. Alone with her thoughts and the noise of the machines, and she knew she would sleep whether she liked it or not. Would dream, whether she liked it or not.

Her last thoughts were of Nick, and the lonely hope that he would fare better tonight.

\---

One night alone, and Judy knew she would rather work until she dropped from exhaustion than deal with it again. So she gave it her best shot.

The morning check with her doctor kept her occupied for the briefest of moments, but when the zebra had gone Judy had to fill the gap. She pushed down on the fear, on the anger that had refreshed itself overnight. She needed to focus. Any thought of her parents would just distract her now. Nick was out there, trying to crack this himself, and she could still help him do it. Had to. She fanned out the Garreline account statements on her lap again and fired up the computer.

_Discharge duty. Then fix the family. Do what you have to to keep Nick safe. Wait._

It was hard. Harder than she'd expected, because she couldn't move around on her own yet. She was sore within a couple hours, even with the painkillers. Her neck and even her ears protested the strange angle she held them at to watch the screen and type. When she dropped papers she had to get the orderlies or even Fangmire to retrieve them.

The paperwork yielded slow patterns. Nick had talked about fertilizer. Ammonium nitrate. It was close to a controlled substance, because of its explosive potential if it got mixed with fuel sources. ZPD had lists of sellers and even big buyers in some cases, and chasing that angle seemed to have more potential than the closed system of Garreline's finances.

Still, gaps remained gaps. Judy's laptop couldn't grab a secure connection to ZPD's network through the hospital Wi-Fi, so she had to route even those basic requests through Fangmire. She sat and waited for him to return, while the physical therapist walked her through basic breathing and stretching exercises she was already way too restless to take seriously. Her lungs were fine. Her legs were fine. She wanted to stand and walk beyond simple bathroom breaks.

But they were adamant about it, and so she stayed in bed and worked until there was nothing left to work on, and then ate even more applesauce and created lists of things to get from headquarters to continue work the next day. That was how her parents found her, on day two.

She heard them coming. Her father's familiar deep voice bounced off the tile out there, and the adrenaline curled around in her stomach. She didn't want to do this now. She couldn't face them again so soon, couldn't move to lock the door or pretend to be elsewhere.

There was nothing for it. Judy killed her laptop display and lay back on her massed pillows, squeezing her eyes shut just as the doorknob turned.

"Oh!" came her mother's voice. "Oh, no. Stu, she's worked herself to sleep. Look, she even left her food."

"Well, how about that." Her father sounded relieved, almost. Judy fought to keep her ears still, laid out against the bed. "Maybe she really is starting to take it a bit easier."

"She must be hurting." Judy heard her mother take a few steps closer to the bed, and wondered if she would have to steel herself to not react to some maternal gesture. Between the stage plays and putting one over Bellwether all those months ago she was getting good at acting, but she was sore and sensitive and didn't trust herself right now.

"I'd guess it's all caught up with her." Her father took a deep breath. "Took more than I ever wanted, though."

"Stu, you can't blame yourself."

"To get between her and a fox..." Rough farm clothing shuffled. "What _happened_ , Bonnie? What's happened to her?"

"She grew up," Bonnie said. "Farther and faster than any of the other kids. And she's still not done."

Judy lay there, like she was nine years old and hiding her late-night reading from older siblings all over again, and despaired. It all started to pour back in past the temporary barriers casework had given her: How alone she was. How angry and tired and impotent the whole situation made her.

But maybe they had just misunderstood. Maybe her father was having second thoughts about what they'd done in the interest of protecting her. If she opened her eyes now, Judy might have the chance to put it all right and bring Nick back-

But they were already leaving. Their quiet footpaws sounded at the door and with a soft click they were gone.

Now there was no small measure of guilt atop the simmering anger. She didn't like misleading anyone, much less her own parents, and especially not over something this important. It was too much of her now to give anything but her full attention. Nick deserved that.

That was the problem, though. Judy watched the ceiling tiles swim in her vision as she stopped bothering to keep from crying. She couldn't address it now, not while it could be such a fierce distraction for both of them. She had to trust that he would hold up without her, until they had finished what they started so long ago down in the ZPD precinct offices. That's what she'd told Nick, and as she hefted the weight of that decision onto her shoulders she had to tell herself again, too. It was more important than them, for better or for worse.

_Get this done and do it right,_ she told herself again. _And then you can both fix what's happened._

She'd never hated putting something before herself more in her life.

And she might have fallen asleep right there, throbbing injury and all, had the door not cracked again. Fangmire tapped on the frame.

"Hey, Hopps. Doing okay?"

Judy sniffed and wiped at her eyes, and the helplessness rose in her throat. Yes, everyone kept checking on her, because she really did need checking on. She wasn't her old self yet. "I'll live."

"That's the spirit." He eyeballed her IV lead and checked the clipboard at the end of her bed in one huge paw, in the automatic routine he'd simply assumed in his time here. Judy didn't mind, but sometimes she did wonder about his own hospital experiences.

"You missed your last dose," Fangmire said.

"What?"

"Your painkillers." Fang pointed a finger at the little plastic cup on her dinner tray, where Judy could see the three purple capsules. The guilt sharpened.

"They make me drowsy."

"Then they make you drowsy." Fangmire tilted his head at her. "Come on, Hopps. I can't make it an order, but I can stand here and be disapproving all night if I have to."

"I'm okay," Judy said. She didn't want to sleep. Not when she had so much still to do. She tapped at her laptop's keyboard to wake it up again. "My hydration's good. I'm not bleeding anymore. My recovery is ahead of schedule, even if the doctors don't think it's-"

"Judy."

Something in her cracked, after days of trying to hold it together. _"What?"_

The big tiger's ears flickered at her fire. "You need rest. You don't have to do everything yourself. And you shouldn't."

"But I do," she said. Her side twinged, and she felt everything threatening to spin out again. "Fang, do you know what my parents did?"

"No."

"They went to court. Against Nick. There's a restraining order on him now, under the old prey safety measures."

Fang had the decency to actually be shocked. He lowered the clipboard. "I didn't know those were still in force."

"For all of a few more months," Judy said. The courts were working on them as they spoke. Nobody was supposed to need the special protections anymore, not since the government had started its reforms to give predators the rights they never should have lost in the first place.

Fang was studying her. "I'm sorry, Hopps."

"It's not your fault." She sighed and picked up the pills. They rattled around. "But it's not fair, either. It's why I'd rather hurt than sleep."

That was a stretch. Sleep didn't offer relief anymore, not since Nick had gone. But some things she still wouldn't share with anyone else.

"You know what he'd think of that."

That _hurt._ Judy snapped up to glare at Fangmire, but he was looking right back, ears forward, muzzle down so his eyes were on her level. There was no malice in it. He was just right. Her captain knew about her and Nick, knew what he meant to Judy about as intimately as anyone else could, because she had told him herself.

But she couldn't let him know everything. She had to spin at least a half-lie to his face, and it felt awful. "I can't let him do this alone."

"You're not." Fang shook his head. "You have to trust him to do his part. And the best thing you can do for him right now - even if you can't see him - is rest."

And so he watched her, quiet and sympathetic, until she swallowed the pills and washed them down with half a liter of cool water from her bedside bottle.

Now she was committed. She felt drowsy already, even if it was probably placebo. She didn't want the loneliness that was coming, even if she needed the rest. Her pillows weren't much comfort as she settled down.

"I never wanted to drag you into this, Fang," she said. "I'm sorry."

"No worries, Hopps." She could see him moving for the door. He flipped the lights off. "It's that magnetic personality."

Judy fought it as long as she could. But eventually the exhaustion won out. She drifted into medicated, necessary slumber and didn't wake until morning.

Not even as the nightmares played again and again.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Present.** _

It smelled like early summer. There were plenty of markers for it: fresh-cut grass, turned earth, the slight ozone tang that meant an afternoon storm was on the way. But the one that always stood out to Judy was the dust of the hard-packed limestone roads. There was nothing quite else like it. That was the scent she remembered most from childhood, drummed into the air from the passage of hundreds of tired paws in the evenings on the way back home from the fields.

And home looked almost unchanged. Same long front porch with the creaky decking; same screen door that hung at a well-used angle no matter how many times they rebuilt it.

_"Judy!"_

Same kits everywhere. Judy let the grin take over and sank to one knee on the front path, to set down her suitcase and intercept four or five of the little ones that came running from their playtime to greet her. Little Charlie thumped into her bandaged midsection, and she hid a wince.

"Hi, Charlie! Marisa, Abby, Jacob! You're all getting so big!"

Abby looked solemn. "Did you get fired?"

"No, silly." Judy had to laugh. "I'm on leave. So I can get better."

"What's with the stick?" Jacob asked.

Judy winked and collapsed the ASP so she could stow it on her belt. "For walking, of course."

Word preceded her. Before Judy even made the threshold, news of her arrival spread in that lightning way it did in families of hundreds with sharp ears. Faces she hadn't seen for months waved from the giant greatroom, or said hello on their way past, or crashed into her waist in their haste to greet her. Someone took her suitcase. Lots of her older siblings were here, too, part of her generation come home for the weekend. Some of them had started their own families already.

Judy hesitated seeing that, the unfamiliar faces - all of them rabbits, and all of them part of the family now. It was nice to be back, but seeing her brothers and sisters grow and change around her would be a good reminder of what she had to do, too. She'd done some changing herself, and more radically than almost any of them. She was here to square that with all of them, to find some path to acceptance the way they had, whether they liked it or not.

The kitchen was Judy's favorite room of the house. It was long, with low earthen ceilings and dominated by a dinner table running nearly the length of it that had to be hundreds of years old now. There were wide windows built above most of the counters to let the sunlight in, and an enormous copper stockpot bubbling away as it always did in the hearth at the end. Stew was a staple and a constant presence in the Hopps household. Someone was always hungry.

By the time Judy and her little entourage arrived in the kitchen, her mother knew. Bonnie Hopps was at the table, working on the latest batch of some dough with the help of a whole range of Judy's siblings. She stepped away as Judy arrived, though, and brushed floury paws on her apron. Judy stepped up for the hug.

"Hi, mom."

Bonnie was careful. "We didn't know you were coming this soon, but oh, it's good to have you back. Are you all right? I didn't think you'd be walking already."

No, she wasn't all right, but Judy wasn't going to get into it here. Not with so many ears present. Her mother probably knew that. "I'm fine. I'm on injury leave. Chief wanted me to take a week."

"What happened?" came the inevitable question from somewhere.

"I chased a perp," Judy said. "He had a knife."

Her mother winced. Her sister, Sharon, now a nurse and surgical assistant one town over, dropped her brown ears. "Cripes, Jude."

"It's part of the job. You want to sew me up next time?"

"You don't sew stab wounds. They need to drain." Sharon went on flattening dough. "But I would if I had to."

"Never been a bunny cop," her mother murmured into the fur atop her head, and squeezed her tighter. It must have become a bit of a mantra. "Your father will be happy to see you home safe."

"Yeah." Judy stepped back, and her mood turned at the inevitable mention of Stu. "I need to talk to both of you about what happened."

Bonnie pressed reluctant paws together. "I knew you would. Someone will go get him."

Judy made ready to help. It was assumed duty: anyone with able paws around the household was expected to put them to use, especially when it came to the constant food preparation.

Sharon looked her up and down, at the unmarked duty greys she wore rolled to the elbow. She furrowed her brow at the EMT pants and oversized baton in its holster, and pointed to the sink.

"Wash up first."

Bonnie pushed open one of the swinging windows that looked onto the cobbled patio. "Ella? Ella, do you know where your father is?"

A young rabbit helping two of the little kits with a watering can looked up. "Northeast patch, I think."

"Can you go get him? Tell him Judy's here."

Ella nodded and scooted off. Judy watched through the window as the task got delegated three more times, until it reached one of the kits with enough boundless energy to actually run out to the far-flung field.

"I'm surprised that works," Judy said. "Dad still doesn't carry a radio?"

"There's one in his truck," Bonnie said. "But you know how he is. He doesn't like the distraction. Joseph and his pals make up for it if we really need to get in touch, though. They're always close by."

They were making pot pie for dinner. It was a Hopps specialty, filled with roasted vegetables from their own farm. It also didn't transport well. Something in the flaky crust didn't take to refrigeration, so Judy hadn't had it in a while. She could still work the dough with the right amount of careful force, though.

Sharon was probably Judy's closest sister. They'd spent a lot of time growing up together, almost right up until they'd gone separate ways for schooling: Judy to the police academy, and Sharon to the local medical tracks. But they fell almost right back together.

And Sharon got right to it. "What are you doing that's getting you hurt like that?"

"It's not that common," Judy protested. It was supposed to be vanishingly rare, actually. She settled for understatement. "Some cases are harder than others."

"But you always did look for trouble. Can't leave it alone."

"You know it." _I'm dating a fox,_ came the thought. Judy's midsection twinged. "What about you? You're doing okay, I notice."

"The worst I ever seem to deal with at the clinic is the occasional belligerent drunk," Sharon said. "Which I expect you and I have in common, actually."

"Had to treat a Hopps yet?"

"It's always off the clock," Sharon said. She spread out the next batch of dough and they started rolling it out. "Stubbed toes and hanged claws galore around here."

"I'll bet Grandma Tams is happy to see more nurses in the family, though," Judy said. "Is she here for the weekend? I didn't see her, or Grandpa Zeke, or anyone."

"They're off for a swap meet in Lakehill," Sharon said. "Won't be back until Tuesday at the earliest, I think."

"Mom!" There were a pair of little ears hovering outside the window above the sink. "Mom, he's coming!"

"Thank you, sweetheart." Bonnie washed her paws, and one ear rotated to Judy. This would be sensitive, enough that she reached over and pulled the hinged window closed.

"Sharon," Judy said. "Can you give us a few minutes?"

Her sister took the suggestion that things were not as normal as they seemed with better grace than Judy deserved.

"She needs to talk to dad and me," Bonnie said. She looked around the kitchen. "Can you keep the little ears away from the doors?"

Sharon got a wry smile. This part, at least, was probably familiar. A family this large had plenty of occasion for sensitive conversation. Apart from maybe their parents' room, the kitchen was the one place where they could mostly enforce a no-eavesdropping rule. It just took a little help.

"Sure," Sharon said. She brushed her paws and motioned the others to the doors. "Come on, everyone. You heard mom."

The main door closed behind her, and the two of them were alone, contemplating a long stretch of brittle silence. Judy carried on preparing the pot pie dough.

"It is good to have you back," her mother said.

"It's good to be home," Judy agreed. "This place never seems to change. It's comforting."

"Well, some of the appliances are updated." Bonnie indicated the matched trio of refrigerators. "Those are new, thanks to all of you this Christmas. Did you even know?"

Judy would have to take her mother's word for it. The six doors were so utterly wallpapered in children's drawings she couldn't even see their original surfaces. "Leon handled it last year."

"Mm." Bonnie set out wire racks to hold some of the completed crusts and avoided her daughter's eyes.

"Just say it, Mom."

"We worry for you, honey." She wrang her paws again. "Especially when things start happening so fast. And you got hurt, and we'd never met him before-"

"Nick," Judy said. "And you could have talked to him first. He was there all day at least once. You saw him when he graduated, too. He's not a total stranger."

Bonnie stood there and seemed to accept the rebuke. "You're right, of course."

"It's overreaction," Judy said. She leaned on the table. "You get that, right? There are things I'm comfortable with that nobody else in this family has ever tried. It's always been that way. You don't have to like it, but you can't just step in, either."

"It gave both of us such a shock," Bonnie said. "Your father was scared for you. You're hurt, and he's always wanted to keep his family safe. You know he's not speciesist. It's just more than he was ready to deal with."

"If you had asked, you might have learned Nick has a few things in common with Dad when it comes to me getting hurt." Judy channeled the anger into the task of preparing the dough. "It's not changing. He's going to have to accept that."

Her mother watched her, and another awkward silence dragged by. Judy wondered if she'd ruined this batch. It wasn't plump the way it was supposed to be.

"You said six months."

"Six months plus," Judy said.

"And you told him what happened."

"Of course I did." Judy turned to look her mother in the eye. "He has as much a right to know what went on and why as I do. I spent a good long time with him before I came out here, too. We had other things we needed to talk about."

It was satisfying in a way Judy knew she shouldn't like, to throw that at her mother and make her confront it. The Hopps women were more forward than most when it came to matters of romance and sexuality. It was a rabbit thing. But until now, relationships in the family had stayed with rabbits. Judy could see her mother's mind working, going to places she and Nick hadn't actually been yet, but she wasn't going to ruin the illusion. This would give her pause and make her think about what - and who - her decisions influenced.

The door out to the patio opened.

Her father looked almost unchanged from the last time Judy had seen him. Same hat, same overalls; now his face lit up with surprise and happiness, so much that Judy almost hesitated at what she'd come to do. Her mother was right. He wasn't a bad mammal. He wasn't vindictive or judgmental. Just reactionary.

But it still bore correction. Needed it, if she was going to make things right.

"Jude!" He crossed the room and wrapped her in a hug that her injured abdomen definitely felt. "I didn't know you were coming back. When did you get here?"

"Just a few minutes ago," Judy said, after he'd released her.

"And mom's already got you working, I see."

"Wouldn't be a visit if I didn't help out." But Judy left the dough for the moment. This deserved her full attention.

"I didn't think you were supposed to be walking yet," Stu said.

"It's been more than a week, dad." She tapped the baton at her hip. "And I've got help."

Stu looked her over, as if checking for extra damage. "Well, we never could slow you down. As long as you're being careful."

More so than ever now - not that she was going to tell them about how her lapse in judgement had led to the confrontation with Whistler in the first place. She'd learned that lesson already, and Nick was doing enough driving it home for the both of them.

"Chief Bogo made me take the week off. I wasn't going to spend it in the city." She took a steadying breath. "I needed to come home and talk about what you did first."

Her father's ears dropped. "Jude."

"You were so far in the wrong, dad, and I think you know why."

"It was so sudden, Jude. We didn't know it was-" he dithered. "More. Than partnership. We didn't think even you would have gone that far."

"But neither of you bothered to _ask_ , either." Judy was nearly as tall as he was now, when she drew herself up with the table. "And you were wrong. I worked through my own fear a long time ago. You just assumed, and assumed the worst. And then you hid behind ancient law instead of dealing with your problems like actual adults."

Her parents were both watching her. They were cowed, or at least respectful enough to give her her piece without interrupting. It was a good sign, and one she knew she'd do well to follow. She couldn't let the anger show without undermining her own position. If it really was all misunderstanding - if - she owed it to them to keep her cool.

"I appreciate that you were trying to protect me, but the law says I'm past that now." She held up her paw at her father's motion. "The real law. The ones that aren't going anywhere. I'm an adult with a gut wound, not someone in a coma. I am conscious and lucid and I can make my own decisions - even about the predators I spend my time with. Even if they seem dangerous or don't make sense to someone who's lived their whole lives in the country."

"We never thought-"

The _snap-snap-snap_ of a deploying ASP cut him off.

"Dad, let me finish." Judy leaned on her cane so she could pace. "Nick is a trained police officer, same as I am. He's more used to the scent of blood than anyone here except maybe Sharon, and believe it or not that's been an asset on some of our cases. He knows how to control himself, more than you give him credit for."

"Lastly, none of this was opportunism. Nick and I have known each other for more than a year now, and worked together for almost as long. He was at the hospital just minutes after I got hurt - before anyone at the department even called you." She looked down at herself. "He was there to make sure I was safe, because he loves me as much as you do."

Stu recoiled a bit at that, and Judy savored it. It felt right to affirm it, out loud. To stop denying or ignoring her lover.

So she stood, out of words, and waited for - something. She wasn't sure what. She didn't think she could bring herself to accept an apology yet. She needed them to chew on this for as long as they'd made her wait, to _get it_ over the next few days. But now that she'd gone through her list, gotten it out - she felt tired. Keenly felt her injury.

"We never wanted to live your life for you," her mother said.

"You could have fooled me," Judy said. "And Nick. You put me in a nasty position, having to explain that to him, even after I told him about Gideon. He wonders what makes him worse than the other fox. Why he's the bad guy."

"Gideon is different," her father said.

"Exactly." Judy tapped her cane on the floor. "You don't think he's a threat to anyone here. You let him close to the family."

 _"Gideon-"_ Stu checked his tone. "Gid has been in and out for years. We've had a long time to get to know him. It didn't happen all at once."

"There's nothing stopping you from getting to know Nick, either." Now was as good a time as any. She turned to go. "You'll get plenty of practice this week."

She could feel the burst of reflexive fear rolling off of them, and it made her want to respond in kind, with anger and with sadness and guilt at the vindication. It was effective, but she wished she didn't have to use it this way.

"Judy-"

"He'll be here sometime tomorrow," she said, and didn't turn around. "We're going to prove you wrong. You'll see he's not a danger to me, or to you or anyone. That he loves me and cares about me and even the mammals around me."

Judy didn't know if that last part was true. It would be asking a lot of Nick, to deal with the entirety of her family on short notice.

And it was, in some ways, as much a violation of her parents' privacy as their order against him had been of his and hers. But he'd agreed to follow her out here for the week, and she wanted him by her side for this, whatever the damage. They had to get over this hurdle together.

It felt like that night he'd left her hospital bed, all over again. She'd committed them both to this now. He'd be on the morning train, as soon as she called.

She just hoped she knew what she was doing.


	3. Chapter 3

Waking at 5:30 every morning to keep order and arrest lawbreakers and storm drug hideouts in the largest metropolitan center around had made Judy soft.

Morning on the farm was earlier than she remembered. By 4 AM there was a riot of activity outside her bedroom door that made sleeping any later impossible, despite the familiar twin bed that was more comfortable than it looked. She rolled to her feet, scrubbed her face and ears in the basin by the door, and swallowed the day's painkillers.

Breakfast was a buffet. Her mother made brief eye contact, enough for a smile, and carried on supervising the little ones with their toast-jamming duties. Her father was nowhere to be seen. Judy spent the time catching up with a whirlwind of siblings and freshly extended family, then headed out to the fields.

Working the dirt was another throwback, this one even more powerful than spending a night in her own bed. There was simple pleasure to it. Here was a task to complete - 'turn this soil' was much simpler than the nuanced work she sometimes had to do in the city. And she used her paws out here a lot more than she ever did writing tickets or driving a cruiser on patrol duty. Even with her injury, she got into it and made good time.

So when her phone buzzed, it took her by surprise.

 _Half an hour out,_ Nick sent.

It was starting. Judy looked back toward the rise of the house on the other side of the field and felt her heart pick up. His arrival hadn't come up again. If her mother was worried, she would have said something. If her father was going to object, he should have taken the time to do it before he left for the day's work.

She stowed her trowel and left for the main path. Sharon, pulling weeds at the other end of the same row, got up as she approached.

"Want some company?"

"I'm okay," Judy said.

"It's a hike to the station. You could take one of the trucks."

"Relax, Sharon. I could use the walk."

"You mean you could use the time away from all the ears."

Judy gave her sister a look and got a knowing one right back.

"I don't know why I ever bother trying to hide things from you," Judy said.

"Mom and dad told us your partner was coming. They kind of had to, Jude. It's weird enough that he's staying here when the only one he knows is you."

Judy looked at her feet and felt the heat in her ears. It was only fair. And they did have a point with that part of their argument: Gideon was a familiar face, or familiar enough. Nick didn't have that luxury. "So? You going to freak out, too?"

"He didn't scare you off." Sharon shrugged. "I'll meet him first."

"He's my best friend," Judy said, as they drew up to one of the gates on the main road. "I tried to arrest him, actually. Second time we met. He knows the score."

Sharon sized her up, fighting the smile. "You never changed. Are you sure you're okay to walk all the way out there?"

Judy tapped the baton on her belt. "I'll be fine."

"Right. Call me if you decide you need a pickup." Sharon paused. "I do want to meet him. If and when the novelty wears off. Don't let them get to you."

It was weird, hearing that from someone that wasn't Nick. It probably showed on her face. Oh well.

"Thanks, Sharon."

\---

She made good time, such that she arrived at the station just a few minutes before Nick's train did.

They'd spent all of one day apart and it was still a rush watching him step out onto the platform. Even in duty greys - just like hers, and probably unintentional - and a backpack, his flashes of orange and russet fur were hard to miss. Bunnyburrow didn't get much traffic, and got even fewer foxes.

And the look on his face, the change in his ears when he saw her made her stomach warm. She waited in the shade, leaning on her cane, until he drew up.

"Hi, Carrots. Are you doing okay?"

"I'm fine," she said. Then, low enough that it wouldn't travel to the few other passengers crossing the platform: "I missed you."

His smile was so wide it drew his ears back. "You, too, sweetheart."

And before they did anything else she pulled him around to the backside of the little station building, into the shadows of the service entrance, so he could crouch into her arms and she could kiss him hello properly. He held her to it, rumbling his satisfaction and relief at finally being able to see her again.

"I take it you came alone," he breathed, and closed his eyes as she pushed her muzzle over his. This was her fox, and she wanted the world to know it right now.

"I walked out. It's really the only way to get some privacy."

"I expected as much."

"Last chance to back out," she told him. "As soon as they see you you're going to be the most interesting thing happening all week."

Nick tilted his head to look at her, and then out over the fields that started right on the other side of the road, off in the general direction of home. He still disliked attention, especially when it was directed at her and had any chance of making her life harder. There was more of that than either of them wanted waiting back there.

But his claws squeezed her shoulders, right where they belonged. "I just got you back. I'm not going anywhere."

They started down the road, slower than even her injury required. She watched his face, his easy enthusiasm. He'd buried so much of the sarcasm and wit she'd seen when she first met him. It still came out, and all the time, but Nick's default was different around her now. He would be playing it carefully around her family, she knew.

"Be sure."

And he never seemed to get frustrated with her. Not even when she hung up on things. "This is something you have to do, Carrots. What else am I supposed to do, get back on the train?" He looked over. "They're not all getting ready to chase me off, are they?"

No," Judy said. "But I'm still angry with my parents. I don't think they're really going to understand for a while. You're here, and that's going to help, I hope. But it's not all going to be easy."

Nick had her free paw. It was one of the advantages of seldom-traveled country roads. "You, of all animals, have a right to be angry with them."

"Are you?"

"Nope," Nick said. "I won't risk that with you."

"Nick."

"I won't do it, Carrots." He looked down at her and dragged his ears back up. "This is about us. About healing. Right? I'm not going to look backward. Not while I have you to take care of."

That would bear unpacking, Judy knew. But it wasn't a discussion for the open road. And they were getting close enough to see the farm now.

Most of it was natural excavation, under a hill that belied just how extensive the place was. The front porch was weather-treated woodwork, with a long picture window set in the front next to the door. Behind the grassy rise there was the collection of barns and silos, and the spindly shape of the weather mast. It felt oddly final, seeing it like this, as she was about to bring her boyfriend into it for good. She squeezed his paw one last time.

"I love you. No matter what happens."

It lit Nick's face up again. "I have no idea what I'm getting into, do I?"

"None at all, fox."

"Oh, good."

"It's not like they've never seen a fox before," Judy said, almost to herself. "This will be polite and helpful and everyone's going to get along just fine. No one's going to scream and run."

The kits, playing on the front porch - screamed and ran.

_"Fox!"_

Judy groaned.

"It's okay," Nick chuckled. "Now, if everyone does that-"

"I won't let them, Nick."

"I know." He squeezed her paw one last time. "Remember. No matter what happens."

\---

It wasn't horrible. Nobody else fled. But there was no getting around the sense of caution the rest of the family seemed to radiate. Little movements spread in the forest of alert ears in the greatroom, like ripples in grain.

"Watch your head," Judy said as they entered. "The ceilings are a bit low here."

Nick ducked to comply, and nearly tripped anyway at the slight height difference between the porch and the floorboards inside. There was a rustle of laughter.

"Quit it." Judy skewered her nearest sibling with a glare. "Everyone, this is Nick." She looked up at him, at how he had one ear cocked carefully toward her voice. "My partner from ZPD."

There was a chorused hello.

"Nick, this is-" Judy counted. "- not even close to everyone, actually. Most of us are out working right now. I'll have to introduce you on a name-by-name basis."

Most of the conversation picked back up as they skirted the main room on their way to the kitchen, even with the undercurrent of careful awareness Judy could feel coming their way. It was for the best. She didn't like treating Nick like a business associate first. It wasn't fair to either of them. But the alternative was likely to get them shocked silence. _Boyfriend_ was an important word around here, and carried a certain tradition.

The brittle feel of it wouldn't last long, if Judy had anything to say about it. She might make allowances to keep from stepping on toes when it came to the whole family, but she wasn't about to change who she was.

The kitchen was at least more intimate. Judy watched Nick's nose twitch at the scent of stewing vegetables and baking pastry.

Bonnie was supervising the washing of another round of vegetables, with three kits on either side of the sink at the counter. Work halted. One of the little ones with a mushroom in her paws squeaked.

"Whoa!"

Bonnie looked up and seemed to brace herself before she got an actual, genuine smile. "Nicholas."

"Yes, Ma'am. Or just Nick."

Bonnie dried her paws on her apron and crossed the room to reach up and shake his. "It's good to see you arrived safe." She glanced at Judy. "We didn't meet under the best circumstances. I want to apologize."

"Thank you for giving me another chance," Nick said. "And for being kind enough to host me on such short notice. I think-" he jumped and looked around behind him.

"Winter!"

There was a little bunny with sleek, dark grey fur, just now old enough to walk and talk, hugging Nick's tail like a body pillow. She looked up at Judy's exclamation.

"Soft."

"Oh, stop that, honey." Bonnie crouched and held out her paws. "Leave Nicholas alone. He just got here."

Judy winced. "Sorry, Nick."

He just smiled and shook his head, but Judy noticed how he curled his tail just a bit tighter once it was back under his control.

"Where's dad?" Judy asked.

Her mother's ears flickered as she straightened up with Winter in her arms. "He'll be working until dinner, like usual. It's kebabs tonight." She smiled again. "I'm afraid we don't keep much tofu or seafood."

"Don't worry about it, Ma'am. I love vegetables, too."

"Please," she said. "Bonnie is fine."

Sharon was here, too, and stepped up to take charge of Winter. She glanced at Nick, emanating polite caution, and nodded hello. She had a tentative smile for Judy, too, and then slipped out the door behind the little processional of kits. They had the room to themselves again, but losing the spectators just made the encounter feel more awkward. Her mother busied herself with the vegetables in the strainer again.

"I was going to give Nick the grand tour," Judy said. "So we'll be back in time for dinner."

"Okay."

"And after dinner we want to talk. With both of you."

Her mom looked around at Nick again, and Judy caught the flash of worry: _now that he's here, what's going on?_ The embarrassment twisted.

_"Mom."_

"Oh! No. No, of course." Bonnie seemed to shake it off, and looked very intently back to her work. "I'm sorry. We'll be here. And I'll make sure your father doesn't go anywhere."

So she and Nick left through the same back door Sharon had taken, out onto the broad patio at the side of the house. Another group of Judy's siblings were preparing a long, low fire barrel for the night's grilling, and paused to watch as they passed.

"Sorry. I'm hoping that phase passes quickly."

"Well, you haven't exactly filled them in with the details."

"Diplomat." Nick was impossible to offend sometimes. She nudged him, just shoulder to elbow, as they walked. He was more than she deserved.

They made their way down paving-stone paths, among the mismatched wrought furniture and little shade trellises and the patchwork gardens that grew small-batch crops of jalapeno and kale and tomato and chard and for the family's own consumption. There were rabbits everywhere. Nick stared around, and Judy watched his changing expressions with glee.

"What do you think?"

"I think you live in one of those gardening magazines."

Judy laughed. "Where do you think those magazines get their inspiration? Rabbits are the best farmers around."

Nick looked to be counting. "How do you keep everyone straight, or get anything done? There's so many faces."

"That takes a lifetime. Nobody's going to blame you for pointing while you're here. Even I lose track sometimes, just living in the city on my own." Judy led him out across the little border lawn toward the farm proper, where the crops scaled up and took on a much more structured appearance. "It's a self-managed system. We bunnies like our hierarchies."

Nick watched out over the orderly rows. "All this?"

"All this. All manual. I'm sure my dad will tell you all about it. The big mechanized farms are still only barely more efficient than rabbits, and none of it tastes near as good."

"Like you can taste the difference."

Judy narrowed her eyes at his tone. "Someone clearly hasn't had a salad with Hopps family veggies yet. You might just give up those fish of yours."

She led him down the nearest row, where corn was coming in, hissing in the breeze. They toured the barns, and the equipment storage sheds, and the machine shop, each of them teeming with rabbits. She introduced him to her older brother Joe, who together with some of their siblings and other rabbits from around the area ran the farm's radio network and weather center. It was technical - might have fascinated Judy when she was younger, had she not discovered criminal justice - and Joe had only built the system out since she'd been gone.

Back inside, Nick took in the labyrinthine tunnels, lit with clever skylights, and the literal warren of little common rooms and storage areas. There were four enormous communal bedrooms that resembled barracks, stuffed full even this time of day. Those he was amused at.

"The pillow fights must be legendary."

"They've been known to rage for months," Judy confirmed. "Nothing you need to worry about, though. The oldest generations, and visitors, get individual rooms back this way." She pointed to her bedroom door. "You're with me."

Nick gave her a little conspiratorial smile and ducked his head inside. If he reacted to the paired twin beds, Judy didn't hear it.

There was the giant greatroom at the front of the house, with its bookcases and big ring of couches. Judy saved the now-bustling kitchen for last. They could barely make it in the door.

"This you've seen already."

Keeping all the mouths around the burrow fed was a full-time proposition. Bonnie was by the refrigerators, orchestrating a group effort to get huge platters of chopped vegetables out onto the patio outside. One group was busy ladling stew from the big pot on the fire. Someone brushed by them with an armload of sharpened bamboo skewers. Stu was finally back from the fields, too, looking tired and happy. His ears didn't droop too much when he looked over and saw Nick. Judy took it as a good sign.

She watched Nick take it in with a baffled expression and tugged on his paw.

"You okay?"

"Fine." He smiled down at her. "Your family just never slows down. I've never seen dinner at such an industrial scale."

A voice - Paul, Judy thought it was - sounded from somewhere to their right.

"Judy, can you and your overly tall friend help with napkins?"

Factual and sarcastic, right up to the point of offense. Definitely Paul. Judy caught Nick's eye and pulled him forward into the activity.

\---

Dinner was highly informal. They ate at the most senior of the long tables outside, right up next to her parents. Conversation was light. Inconsequential. Nick spent a lot of time answering harmless questions about work. Judy passed the dinner enjoying the fact that he hadn't bolted right away, and enjoying the food. Grilled green peppers and pineapple were her favorite.

But there was the knowledge of what was coming, and it kept her from relaxing completely as evening fell. And eventually they did all finish eating, and shooed away the rest of the onlookers, and lit the citronella torches to keep the bugs down. Most of the family got to work corraling the little ones for bed, and the four of them - Judy, Nick and her parents - had this corner of the patio to themselves. She glanced at Nick's alert ears and jumped right in.

"You two owe Nick a serious apology."

Her parents looked at her, and at each other.

"We do," her father said. He cleared his throat. "And I am sorry for reacting to you at the hospital the way I did," he said to Nick. "I should be better than going straight to the worst case."

Nick inclined his muzzle. "Thank you. I'm sorry, too, that we didn't have more time to talk." He looked over and smiled. "Judy means a lot to me. When she got hurt, I got scared."

"You and me both."

Judy whipped around. _"Dad."_

"It's all right, Judy," Nick said. "I understand."

"That doesn't make his fear _valid_ , Nick. It doesn't excuse anything."

Nick's expression was all careful control. There was no cynicism in it, no aggression or placation.

"No," he agreed, and kept his eyes on her father. "But I hope I might have the chance to show him why it was misplaced."

Stu was silent, and Judy fumed. Sure, he might have recognized his error, might even be ready to respect her decisions. He'd let Nick onto the property, after all. Eaten dinner with him. But there was no justification for going to court to interrupt Nick's presence in her life. That was what he'd done, plain and simple. As far as Judy was concerned, there was nothing to understand about the logic of that move.

"I am glad you're here," her mother said into the quiet. "Because you both deserve another chance, and your father and I owe it to you both to try this again. But you need to be careful. Nobody else knows or expects that you two are so... close."

"And I wouldn't tell them, either," Stu said.

Judy flared. "That's not your decision, dad. You're stepping in again, when I told you why you were wrong."

He spread his paws. "Look, you saw what I did when you dropped this little bombshell. Do you want a bunch of the others panicking, too? You know I'm not the highest-strung of all of us."

"Did you look around at all during dinner, dad? None of the kids are scared of Nick. Not even the little ones. Winter walked right up and hugged him this afternoon."

"Winter's not scared of anything. No fear, that child."

"Stop changing the subject."

"Judy." Nick leaned forward into the corner of her eye. "I think your dad's right this time. This is going to be a process."

"I'm not going to hide you in my room all week, Nick. We're here together."

"Jude." Her father's voice was softer now. "I have to think of the rest of the family. We're still coming to terms with this. They- I can't say what any of them might do."

She could see it their way, and that was the worst part. Their argument made sense. There were lines in her family's minds, traditional ones, and Judy would be well over a lot of them for who she loved. Judy could imagine the reactions she'd get if the rest of the burrow learned just what she and Nick had become to each other. It would be more than a few shocked, horrified rabbits, gathering their own brood close, keeping their distance from the strange new fox and the one he'd seduced. That was how families fractured.

But that nightmare wasn't enough to drive out the anger, the indignation that even now, even when she'd laid it all out for her parents so they had to see that mindset was wrong, they were still dictating to her.

"And we should all sleep on it anyway," Bonnie said. She met her husband's eyes briefly. "We made up a bed for you in the guest room, Nicholas. I'm sorry it's so small."

"I'm sure it will be fine," Nick said, and stood. "Thank you both."

\---

Nick had to coax Judy to leave the patio and go to bed, and even when they left the busy evening burrow behind and were alone together she still wasn't ready to let it go. Her baton tapped against the floor. It was turning into a nervous habit.

Was all the hospitality just lip service, then? Some magnanimous sham? Nick could see how precarious the whole thing was. Judy was convinced he was just too polite to say anything about it, for her sake.

He closed the door behind them and the rest of the world seemed to drop off. Judy stood by her solo bed and watched him, really looked at him the way she'd wanted to since the day began, and decided she could swim in the indignation just a bit longer before he pulled her out of it. He stood for a moment at the door, his paw covering the knob.

"It's okay, Carrots."

"It's not."

"They meant what they said. They are sorry for what happened."

"I have to blame them for it, Nick. They still don't understand they were wrong."

Nick gave her a special smile, the one he reserved for when she was being especially _Judy_. She climbed up to stand on the bed as he approached and let him wrap her in a hug.

"Do you ever wonder what makes you such a good cop?" he asked in her ear.

She shook her head against him and pushed closer. He sucked the stress away, just by being there.

"You don't do anything by halves," he said. "You are so convinced of the good things, and you never let up."

"That's not a bad thing, though."

"Not at all." Nick pulled far enough away to look at her. "The rest of the world just takes longer than you to realize it sometimes."

"I still love them," Judy said. "As much as I can love you. But I know they're better than this. That's part of what that love is. Making them see it."

"Then we'll work on them," Nick said.

Judy let her eyes close as his paws pushed across her cheeks, and against the muscles of her neck. "Nice and slow?"

He huffed in amusement. "Nice and slow."

Her ear twitched, and Judy got another reminder of life at home she hadn't really prepared for.

"Hold that thought," she murmured.

"What?"

"The door."

"I noticed there were no locks."

"No," Judy said. "Sorry. That's a bit of a bunny thing." The burrow balanced a combination of fire code requirements and mutual respect with a collective understanding that everyone was going to hear everything, to some degree.

Judy crossed to the door and yanked it open. A whole crowd of her younger siblings flinched away from the threshold. She could almost hear Nick's ears flatten.

"Beat it," Judy growled to them, and raised her baton. "Go on. Or I'll come after you myself. I'm tired and not very happy right now, and this time I actually can arrest you."

She closed the door on the fleeing mob and turned to Nick. "Sorry. It's mostly harmless, but-" she waved a paw at him. "You're going to be a bit of an exception."

Nick nodded, meek. "Thanks for the warning. I'll keep my voice down."

Judy watched him. Parts of being here with her were going to be as hard on him as they were the other way around. There was no attention quite like the collective focus of a bunch of nervous rabbits. And here he was anyway, because he'd committed to her.

"You shouldn't have to."

Nick drew out their kiss, pushing at her enough that she relaxed and opened up and responded. This was something they needed during their time out here, what they both deserved. These long moments alone would help them keep their balance, after what felt like such a long wait apart thanks to casework and injuries and family drama. The world outside that door didn't need to exist. They could let the rest of it wait.

"I love you."

"I love you, too. No matter what." Nick's claws pricked, and he looked down. "This is where we would fall onto the bed, if either of these beds were big enough for that sort of thing."

"Sorry," Judy said. She nosed at him. "They aren't even as big as the couches, I know."

"Nice matching comforters, though."

She looked. "Mom insists on calling it the guest room where you can hear, and loading it with highly symbolic twin beds, but this is my room. Sharon and I lived here before we moved out."

He seemed to like that notion. "All to yourself?"

"Or close enough."

They prepared for sleep, with travel-friendly versions of the habits they'd built at their homes in the city. Nick had to bend to see his teeth in the mirror as he brushed them, and twice Judy heard him bash his knees against the base of the porcelain sink.

She laid out one of his sleep shirts on a hunch, and sure enough he took it when he came back over. She watched the muscles in his back move as he changed, and because she was here with him on this side of the door, because she had to do something to bring their new relationship into this space - she pulled on one of his shirts, too.

They sat on the rug between the beds. Nick held her close in his lap and kissed her shoulders and neck where they showed under her giant sleepwear. It didn't feel like enough. But it was a start.

"Are you okay, Carrots?"

Judy leaned back against him and trusted her ears to do the talking.

"I mean everything else," he said, and squeezed her. "Sorry."

She sighed and tried to really get over it for the night, for his sake. "I'm okay. It's slow going, and I'm tired at the end of the day, but I'm getting better."

His paws - hot, careful, with sharp claws - slipped under her shirt to probe her still-bandaged midsection. And then they stayed.

"You're walking again quickly."

"I'm being safe about it. And I have help." She indicated her belt, hanging on the footboard. "If I run into trouble, you can carry me."

His breath was hot against the top of her head. "Don't think I won't. No dreams?"

"No dreams," Judy said. "What about you?"

"I have you back. I can sleep again."

She looked up at his careful ears. They hadn't had the time to process the true end to the case. Not with everything else that had distracted them. Judy hadn't even read the reports yet. Nick had pulled it off, just as she knew he would, but Judy worried at the reluctance he sometimes showed when they talked about it. "How bad did it get?"

"Not as bad as it could have," he said after a moment. "But you never know."

"I'm here for you." She had to accept that for now. This too, it seemed, would take time. "Wake me, if you need me."

He pulled her tight again. They stayed there as long as they could, until Judy did feel the exhaustion dragging at her. Nick stood her up long enough for her to drink something, then flipped off the lights to kiss her goodnight there in the dark with a burst of something jealous and eager, something he hadn't been able to show before. It was so fierce she drifted off wanting more.


	4. Chapter 4

She was first up. No surprise; Nick was technically nocturnal and had it hard in the mornings as it was. He was not ready for the pre-dawn gloom - much less the enthusiasm - of a farm breakfast.

But his ears twitched to follow her as she moved around, preparing for the day, and as the drum of feet and hum of conversation crested outside he eventually he cranked open one bloodshot eye.

_"Why?"_

"I don't think they're doing it on purpose." Judy nuzzled him good morning. "Come on. There's plenty of coffee."

They braved the kitchen, and Judy watched his ears drop at the onslaught of noise. There were new rabbits here, too, ones who hadn't seen him yet, and plenty who apparently didn't know the visit was a multi-day affair. They were getting a good number of stares.

_He's still here!_

_Do you think they really did share that room? Is that safe?_

The whispers probably weren't loud enough for Nick to hear over everything else. Probably. Judy scowled over at where she thought they'd come from anyway and led him over to the weathered percolator on the stove. His chipped mug - one of probably hundreds of identical ones - disappeared in his paws. But as he sniffed at the aromatic steam, it did look to help.

"Thanks."

"What do you want to eat?"

He looked hopeful, and she had to shake her head. "We don't do eggs."

"Oh, right."

"Baked beans, maybe? On toast? Or there's stew left."

"Beans are good. Thanks."

Judy went to prepare a triple portion - two for him, and one for her.

The rest of them gave Nick a bit of a berth. She should have expected it - it was early in the morning, before the sun was even up, and there was an unfamiliar fox making himself at home in the kitchen. He probably noticed it, too. But he just nursed his coffee at the corner of the table and watched her.

Her mother breezed around, feeding kits and stirring oatmeal and cleaning spills with the effortless multitasking ability that came with a lifetime of looking after a family. She looked happy, enough to send Nick an easy smile as she passed.

But Stu was already gone for the morning, it seemed. Judy soured. Normally he stuck around during breakfast, and left with the sunrise. Meals were some of the best time he got with his family when he was busy with the big harvests. Apparently he'd seen fit to change that today, and the day before.

"Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?"

"Hi, mom. Dad already took off?"

"You know he's busy."

"He knew Nick was going to be here. He's here all week. Ignoring him isn't going to fix anything."

The toaster popped, sending a couple crumbs onto the counter. Bonnie mopped them up absently. "Your father needs time. And space. You can give him that, can't you? I know it's hard, but I've never seen you give up on anything."

"It would help if he even pretended to try meeting us halfway," Judy grumbled. She sighed and held the plate of toast so her mother could ladle beans onto the slices. "Thank you."

"Go enjoy breakfast," Bonnie said. "You can always stay here and help me with cleanup."

\---

"What does your dad like?" Nick asked, once they'd eaten and were watching most of the morning rush clear out of the room, out to the fields or to the myriad tasks elsewhere in the burrow.

"Farming, honestly." Judy slurped the remains of her coffee. "Dirt. He's routine."

Nick scratched a claw along the top of his snout. "My only farming experience is the work I've done with you. I assume there's more to this version than digging holes and dropping seeds in them."

"Just a bit." Judy eyed him. "You're not going out there and forcing the issue, are you?"

"I'm more careful than that. But I want to help." Nick looked around the now merely busy kitchen. "I know it's hard for them to go eye-to-eye with a fox. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to try olive branches."

"You don't owe them anything."

"No," Nick said. Judy went still and alert as she felt a big canine footpaw brushing hers underneath the table. "Not them."

Judy swallowed her snappy line about storybook love scenes. It was saccharine, but coming from Nick meant it was true. That he was risking attention - and yes, for Nick a brief game of footsie was risking attention - meant he really was worried about her.

"Sorry."

"Nice and slow. What can I do?"

There had to be common ground somewhere. Around the farm, daily life tended to revolve around either agriculture or the domestic support that enabled more agriculture. It was a departure from their normal obligations, and a chance to try something new, in his case.

They started with washing up after breakfast, amid the squad of rabbits that stayed behind. Even with both of the extra-capacity dishwashers humming away there was plenty to clean up. Bonnie wasn't thrilled with the guest helping - didn't matter that he was a fox, that was just the principle of guests - but they both insisted. Nick had no trouble reaching even the highest cabinets.

After that, they trooped outside to help unload a big delivery of lumber from one of the nearby mills. Construction on such a large farm never really ended. There was always something new to repair or build up or add to - a new work shed for the meteorology team was getting framed out, in this case. But Nick refused to let Judy help here, out of concern for her injury. She had to stand and watch and direct traffic, and gave him no shortage of 'red wood' barbs to compensate.

She was feeling it, though, as Sharon snagged them to assist with laundry later in the day. Even this lightweight task was slower than it should have been. It was hot and stuffy in the main washroom, too, what with all the dryers going. Judy leaned on her baton and watched Nick enter with a double stack of baskets in his arms, full of bedsheets and towels. Little Winter was riding inside, paws hooked over the topmost basket rim, a big grin on her face.

"You have a stowaway."

"She helped," Sharon said as she followed Nick through the door. She was watching closely - as if Nick was going to be anything but careful with a passenger like that. One ear was locked on Winter. "Pulled up all the fitted sheets herself."

"You all right?" Nick asked. He set the baskets down and he, too, watched to make sure Winter got out safely. Judy wondered if Sharon realized he was almost as keyed into the body language as any rabbit now.

"Just need a short break. I'm still a little weak, is all."

"No shame in taking it easy." Nick seemed to bite down on his words, to keep the _Carrots_ from leaking out. He crossed his arms over his duty greys at her scowl and tilted his head at Sharon. "Has she always been this stubborn?"

"Yes," Sharon said. She started sorting the baskets into light and dark piles. "This doesn't surprise me at all. What happened, anyway?" One ear rotated toward Winter. "The full-ish version."

Judy chewed her lip. It wasn't the sort of thing Judy would normally share. It wasn't proper to get into the gritty specifics of police cases, to say nothing of the personal edge it all carried for her and Nick. But Sharon was family - a littermate, a sister - and closer than almost any of them right now besides.

"It was a financial case, at least at first," she said. "But there were-" She glanced at Winter. " _Disappearances_. Permanent ones. Coverups for a drug ring, it turned out. I chased down one of the players, and he surprised me." Judy glanced at Nick. "We think he was sending a message."

"You were alone, I take it," Sharon said. "Judging by your partner's ears here."

Nick jumped and rearranged his expression. "Yes, she was. She's reckless that way."

"Whose side are you on?" Judy growled at him, and watched his nostrils flare in response. _Yours, obviously._ He'd prove it right there if she asked him to. She made a hasty grab for a basket and started sorting.

"Anyway, I spent a week resting." Nick's eyes tightened, and she had to look away before she reacted. With one breath, she'd glossed over enough emotional baggage to fill the room. "Now it's stretching and breathing exercises and waiting. Bogo will clear me for duty when we go back."

"I'll bet," Sharon said. She was still sensitive enough to pick up on some of whatever Judy was feeling, but for now that manifested as just a slight frown. "I think you're good for her, Nick. Until she joined ZPD I don't think she ever slowed down to look at the world around her."

"That's me. Professional brakes."

She looked to size him up again, and stuck out a paw for shaking. "I owe you, then. I'm probably Judy's closest sister. Before she left I was the closest thing she had to a friend, too."

"Ouch," Judy said.

Nick took it carefully. "She's all right, your sister. Good partner. Good friend. She's up to two of those, now."

Sharon's smile was tentative, but it was warm enough. It made Judy hopeful. It was about time someone saw Nick for who he was and not what he was. Someone other than Winter, anyway.

"So did you inherit her fashion sense, or the other way around?"

"Please," Judy snorted and looked down at her utilities. "These are useful."

"You look like a matched pair of advertisements for pockets," Sharon teased. "No wonder everyone's staring."

"They're new," Judy said. "Which is saying something. They might be boring, but they hold up even better than anything here and there are no patches."

"Fair," Sharon said. Then, at Nick's expression: "Hand-me-down clothing." She indicated Winter's blue plaid shirt. "None of us wear new shirts or pants until we're ten or so."

"Makes sense." Nick looked around at the little rabbit. "Winter's not your daughter, I take it."

Judy choked on the nervous laughter. Stupid fox.

"No," Sharon chuckled. "She's our littlest sister."

"Sorry."

"No, I mean- I get it." Sharon threw a sock. "Shut _up_ , Jude."

Winter, who had stared between them for the whole conversation, pouted. "Not little."

"No, you're not," Judy said. She ruffled her sister's headfur. "Don't listen to Sharon."

\---

They broke for lunch, and for fresh iced tea in the afternoon sun out on the patio. Nick sat on one of the weathered benches and played with his straw.

"You know, I'm not going to be able to tease you anymore."

Judy raised an eyebrow. "Somehow I doubt that."

"I mean it. At least about this. Remember every time you took calls from home? I got restless something fierce."

"Sure." Judy had fond memories of those times, actually - taking a video call from your parents when you were wearing nothing but your boyfriend's shirt was supposed to be awkward. Doubly so when he grabbed your tail midway through. But it just made her feel warm.

"It's not what I thought. Everybody's so busy. And happy."

"'It's only work if you make it feel like work,' dad says." She stirred her drink. "As we're teaching you."

Nick was happy just to spend the time with her, she knew. And the undercurrent of careful awareness had blunted, just a bit. At least among those Nick had been around today. He'd shown them all there was more to him than they expected. Almost none of them knew why, of course. Nick was careful not to make it obvious.

Judy pushed to her feet and tested her balance again. Her stomach was getting stronger; she could stand upright on her own now and even walk for a minute or two before she needed the support of her baton. She started toward the paths between the house and the fields. Nick was right beside her.

"Wish I could run again," she said. "We used to race down the fields, all the way to the last sprinkler."

"How'd you do?"

"I held my own. My brothers were faster than I was, but I'd make them run it again and again until I won."

They went left, to where the path curved around the front of the house and joined up with the main road.

"So you've met Sharon," Judy said.

"She's nice."

"She'll be the next to know, at some point."

Nick kept quiet, but she could sense his ears on her.

"What?"

"Nothing. You know your family far better than I do."

"That's kind of the point," Judy said. "Once she knows it will be easier to make my dad sit down and notice you're here to stay."

It was nothing but eye-level crops and dust from the road out here. Nick squeezed her shoulder briefly. "This part doesn't have to be a race, sweetheart. While we're on the subject of past conversations about home, you'll remember I spent most of them wanting you to take your time."

" _Professional brakes_ is right."

Nick nodded, conceding the point. They walked the path, quiet but for the soft crunch of the baton every other step.

"I don't blame him," Nick said. "I've forgiven him, honestly."

"It's more than he deserves."

"Doesn't change anything." Nick shook his head. "Your testimony cleared my record. It's like it never happened, as far as the legal system is concerned, and that's good enough for me."

"Not for me."

"Carrots-" Nick stopped them there and took her cheeks in his paws so she had to look at him. "It's as much about giving ground as it is taking it. If you hold that above him forever I worry it's only going to do more damage. To him, and to us." His claws prickled against the base of her ears. "It's not the same as Baird, or Whistler. But it will hurt if you bottle it up, just like that did."

Something crawled in Judy's stomach at the mention of Baird, something she hadn't bothered thinking about since she'd arrived. The vacation was doing its job, in that regard.

Nick was right, of course. At least about the stress. Family matters were less of an immediate existential threat than the actions of malicious criminals, but the emotional fallout could be - and had already proven to be - just as dangerous. Nick knew that a bit better than she did, she guessed, because of what he'd gone through without her. She'd cracked the paperwork, but Nick had been the one to go after Baird, to finish it.

She didn't know everything yet, which spoke as strongly as anything else to how hung up on her parents she'd been. The reports were still sitting in her briefcase in her room. Nick had written parts of them. His debrief transcript was on top of the pile.

And talk of it was reminding him, too. He was closer to her, his tail tighter around his legs and hers. Judy didn't know if he noticed.

"I'm sorry," she said. She pushed her nose at his fingers. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"I need to talk about what happened," he said. He let her go with a trailing finger under her chin and started down the road again, slow enough that she'd be able to keep up. The bright sun felt like an intrusion now. Far too cheery for what they had to discuss. "But I don't know if I'm ready to do that to you yet. I'm sorry, too."

It would be so much easier if she'd been there alongside him for it. She knew that, even if it bore reminding sometimes. But circumstance - no, not circumstance, her decisions - had separated them. And this frustration, this being where they were now, was part of atoning for that. Without her single-minded choice to pursue Whistler, none of this would have happened: not her injury, not the restraining order, not the mandatory vacation, marred by the undercurrent of stress. She wouldn't feel the need to force her entire family to her will. Nick wouldn't have to be here holding her up while she did it.

"Nick, are you comfortable here?"

"Yes. I love you, and I love being here with you."

He was so much more than she deserved. "Nick, please."

"That's my answer, Carrots." His smile was patient. "I haven't met the legendary Gideon Grey yet, so I might as well be the only fox out here. I won't lie, that's harder than I'd like. But I've been dealing with that all my life."

"And it's not fair." She told him that every time, but it was never any less true.

"But it's worth it this time," he said. "We're back here together, and even though it's only been a day your family is starting to notice."

For better or for worse. But then that's what she'd committed them both to. She was so focused on fixing it, on holding up her end of the bargain they'd made that night in Nick's apartment that she wasn't paying enough attention to everything else around her. To the context of their jobs. To Nick's own emotional state, coming off action.

That had to change, for his sake and for hers.

They walked and listened to the breeze in the crops, and the birdsong and the droning bugs. Judy made a conscious effort to slow down, to take deliberate steps and appreciate the signals her healing body sent. She took Nick's paw with her free one, and even though they were technically in public he didn't shy away. She drew strength and reassurance from the contact, and felt him giving and taking the same.

They were in this for each other, and that was most important.


	5. Chapter 5

Nick held unintentional court the next morning, demolishing bowl after rabbit-scale bowl of oatmeal while a crowd of kits looked on and argued about where he was putting it all. Bonnie was smiling at the animated discussion, but she watched him closely. Again Judy suspected Nick was picking up on the attention, even if her mother didn't realize.

In the fields, before they pitched in in earnest, she taught him one-on-one how their farm was laid out. All of the output from the main crops went for sale, to contracted buyers or to farmer's markets and the roadside stand. The more technical of her siblings had developed software to keep track of what needed attention when, very nearly down to the individual plants. Most of the little utility trucks had a terminal now, like the ones Judy and Nick used in their cruisers at work; between that and the radio she'd clipped to her belt Judy felt very much at home.

This being a rabbit-run farm, though, all of the labor was manual. Teams of field workers rotated through preparation, planting and fertilizing. Everywhere they went there was someone testing soil acidity, or pulling weeds or repairing the netting that screened the more sensitive crops from insects and rainfall. Judy kept their distance when she could, so they wouldn't be distracting and because Nick was going to get overwhelmed if she tried to get him to remember any more names today.

He watched another group loading pallets onto a trailer as they drove past.

"Those aren't your family. Their ears are different."

"Good eye," she said. "I think that's Lucille and her volunteers from the community center picking up their weekly delivery. They get service hours; we get free labor."

Nick turned as their route took them along the northern edge of the farm. "And this?"

"The lake."

'Lake' was generous, but the name had stuck for as long as Judy could remember. It was a large natural pond, complete with a little island. A compact pump on one edge drew water for irrigation. The horizon was open here, without crops in the way. They could see dark, fluffy thunderheads building. Nick craned up at the clouds.

"You haven't seen real country weather yet, have you?" she asked.

"No."

"This storm looks nasty. With any luck it'll roll right over us."

"Luck, huh?"

"I like the rain," Judy said. "Sure, it slows us down a bit, but it's good for the crops. I would always sit and watch from the kitchen as a kid."

Joe and the meteorology team already had an alert going for it. Everyone out in the fields would get minute-by-minute updates as the storm progressed. Nick watched her log the advisory on the terminal.

"I didn't expect this to be so high-tech," he said. "Breakfast came out of an old iron pot in the fireplace, and here you are playing with weather radar that puts the TV stations back in the city to shame."

"We're not just a bunch of country folk." She smiled. "Food production is too important not to evolve once in a while. And we don't do weather engineering out here. It's important to keep an eye on it."

They pitched in like that the whole afternoon, filling in gaps on the periphery where they could be useful without getting in anyone's way. They ferried bags of seed and fertilizer to teams that ran out, and borrowed the old field truck to take a fresh load of produce out to the roadside stand. Talk, as they were close enough to hear it, was all on the coming storm.

And all the while, Nick stole little moments. Nothing they'd get noticed for - just a lingering paw on her shoulder while they pulled more nitrates out of storage, or one furtive little kiss during the deserted drive back toward the farm from the stand. But it was enough to show her that he really was enjoying himself, and the chance to do something so new and different with her without having to dive in alongside her entire family at the same time.

Nothing felt forced at all, in fact, until they were back at the barn, putting tools away, and Judy's radio went off with the triple-tone alert she hadn't heard since she moved to the city.

"That's the hazard alarm." Judy frowned. "Hail coming, fast."

They took it more seriously than almost anything else - not just for the damage it could do to the farm's valuable crops but also because large enough stones were dangerous when you were just a few feet tall.

At the entrance to the barn they could already see rabbits streaming out of the fields, making for the shelter of the structures. The air temperature dropped as they crossed the open space, and the clouds they'd watched earlier had gone lumpy and green as they moved in.

Nick was at her shoulder, same as ever, sensing her mood change with the wind. Thunder rolled over them.

"Can we help here?"

"Be ready to." Judy was counting, for all the good it would do just now. How many were in the fields right now? A hundred, at most.

Stu was standing on the far side of the clearing, watching just like she was to make sure his family made it in safe.

"Anyone need pickup, Dad?"

"Lexa and her sisters were out east on the berry patch," he said, and pointed at one of the UTVs now rolling in. "But they made it okay. I think that's everyone."

Fat raindrops scattered over the path. Judy felt one hit right between her ears. It drove them all through the broad doors of the barn, where a bunch of nervous rabbits milled and muttered about the weather readout.

It happened in the space of seconds: the big, fat droplets gave over to a torrent of ice that bounced in the dirt of the paths and hammered off the broad roof above them so loudly Judy had to shout to be heard. Kits risked the edge of the shelter to pluck hailstones almost the size of her fist out of the dirt and raced off to present them to the meteorology team for measurement. Her father had turned away from the noise, with a radio cupped to his muzzle as he talked to Bonnie in the house proper, making sure everyone was accounted for.

And the alert, when it came, spread even faster. The Hopps clan was two short.

_Kayla and Wes are still out there somewhere._

_They were on Four West, they can't be far._

_Oh, no._

_What happened to their radio?_

Judy's eyes went automatically to what horizon she could see from here. There was some shelter in the fields, but if they hadn't made it in time...

"Judy." Nick was looking at the anxious rabbits around them, and over her father's shoulder at the hardcopy map in his paws. She could see him coming to the decision already.

It made sense. Nick had the layout; he'd spent all morning learning it. He was a cop, used to high pressure and quick thinking. And he just massed more. Going out into this was less dangerous for him than for any of the others.

She would have worried for him - except she was planning on being right out there with him.

"Yeah. Grab something we can use for cover."

His ears flattened at the _we_ , but he went to pull a couple square feet of plywood off a nearby workbench all the same.

Her father looked between them. "Jude-"

"No time, dad. We've got this. We do a lot worse in the city every day."

She could see him fighting the reflex to step in, to keep her safe. "I know," he said instead. "Be careful, sweetheart."

The rabbits made a hole, Nick angled their improvised shield so it would shelter her completely, and they ran for the nearest buggy.

It was _loud_ , right above her like that. Judy felt her ears drop. Nick, with less protection, just gritted his teeth.

He let her drive so he could keep watch. The tires dug a furrow into what was quickly becoming icy mud, and then they were rocketing down the main path. Hail roared on the UTV's canvas roof. Judy worried she was going to lose the plexiglass windshield.

"Left here!"

She trusted him enough to make the blind turn, and nearly slewed off the trail anyway as the vehicle scraped for grip. Nick flinched away from the outside edge of the cab, which was now open to the slight angle of the hail.

"Do you know what they look like?" Nick yelled. "Clothes, fur patterns, anything."

"Kayla has light gray fur, all over. Wes..."

"Yeah?"

"I don't know. He's my brother in law. New."

They made it all the way down to the edge of the field and had to double back. Judy was getting more and more worried, because if anything the hail was just getting worse. It was slashing down through the cornstalks here, taking whole leaves off as it went and sending them fluttering to the ground. If Kayla was under there somewhere, the hail would be literally eroding their cover around them.

"Stop!" Nick called. She jammed the brake. "I see them. By the pipes."

He pointed to where hail was rattling off the coiled spool of a big irrigation hose a few rows in. There were two rabbits huddled in the lee of it, mostly protected but not going anywhere in the meantime.

Nick grabbed his shield and they ran for it.

"Kayla!"

She looked up as they pounded closer. "Wes got hit. I think his ankle's broken."

"Did you hear it coming?"

"Radio's dead."

Wes' ears were limp behind him and he was clutching his leg. Judy slid around opposite him and took his left wrist.

"We'll take him between us to the truck. On three, okay? One, two-"

It was slow going, and there wasn't room under the plywood for all of them. Nick was taking it almost in the open, ducking with his arms stretched wide to keep the board above them. Judy could hear hailstones thudding against his shoulders and back, and as they made it to the shelter of the UTV one cracked off one of his knuckles. He bit down on a yelp.

Three rabbits and a fox was a tight squeeze for a two-seater, but they made it work because they had to. Judy let Nick drive, and spent the bumpy ride making sure a broken ankle was the worst of Wes' injuries. There were plenty of able paws, some of them trained, to stabilize him until they could take him to the hospital, but it was going to have to wait until the hail let up.

Nick took them right into the barn, and sure enough they were mobbed by rabbits - all of them concerned, but all of them disciplined enough to make sure Wes was taken care of. He sat on the edge of the makeshift cot and looked up at Nick while they all worked around him.

"It's Nick, right?" He winced as someone started to splint his ankle.

"Yeah."

"I owe you, Nick. Thanks."

Kayla nodded along with him.

Nick just sat on the next bench over and let Judy check him over. "It's fine. I'm glad we got to you when we did."

Judy took his paw and probed at it. "You okay?"

He nodded. "Jammed a finger fighting a hailstorm. Don't tell Del Gato; I'll never hear the end of it."

"Hey, you fought a hailstorm." Judy let him go with a trailing paw now that so many of the bystanders were looking on - her father included, as he drew up. "It's more than he would do."

"It sure takes guts," Stu said. "How's Wes?"

"Okay," came the call. "We got him some painkillers."

Stu relaxed, just a bit. "Judy's reckless streak must be wearing off on you," he said, and blew a sigh. "This time I'm glad it did. Thank you, Nick."

\---

The hail eventually slackened back to rain, which gave them the window they needed to get back into the house, group by group. Work was suspended for the day, Wes and Kayla and a couple of Judy's other sisters left for the hospital, and the family's efforts turned to keeping minds off the stress of damage and injury from the storm. There was no time to mope, not with a whole burrow to feed and entertain at once. Judy dragged Nick into the dark of the pantry long enough to wrap a bandage around his paw that was more symbolic than anything - she was much more interested in kissing it better.

They were both the talk of the kitchen. Everyone knew what had happened. The kits tearing around the adults' feet were embellishing Nick's legend in real-time. He got a lot of smiles and pawshakes, so much that Judy could see it was making him a bit uncomfortable.

Still, it would have been an enjoyable, if crowded, dinner - had they not had even more guests. The elder generation had returned from Lakehill in the middle of the storm, and unlike the rest of the family they weren't pleased or even ambivalent to sharing a roof with a fox.

Grandma Tams and a couple of her sisters and friends were all polite caution, but most of them just paid very close attention to the unfamiliar mammal without ever making eye contact or acknowledging him as a person. Instead, they grilled Judy on her experiences and the risks she took. _Why had she been in the hospital? What was her chief thinking, pairing her with a predator? Was she reconsidering her career at all?_

Nick, for his part, just radiated patience, even as they moved down the hierarchy of the main table to make room for the visitors. He sat next to Judy all dinner, as if to say this is who I am and this is where I belong - but he didn't speak up beyond his impeccable mealtime etiquette. Judy saw him subdued, what with the events of that afternoon, and probably tired and sore, and he was still just balancing her, packing reassurance into their brief moments of eye contact.

They might have been able to deal with it. But then they moved to the greatroom and the family films came out.

“A lot of things suddenly make a lot more sense,” Nick said.

Judy dropped her ears and tried to ignore the quiet chuckles of an entire room full of rabbits. “I was nine years old.”

“I liked it,” Nick said. He was humoring her. “The ketchup was a nice touch.”

“Now you see what we’ve been dealing with this whole time,” one of her siblings called.

“What, are you looking for sympathy?” Nick squinted over at her brother. “Jerry, right? Sorry. She’s got me believing it, too.”

More laughter. Judy tried to sink into the couch, there between Nick and Sharon. Her family had come around to her career choice, right about when she was forcing them to confront the dangerous, personal realities it sometimes carried. Now they supported her - even if they were still cautious about it.

Stu knelt by the ancient DV player and set the tape to rewind.

“Once she sets her mind to something it’s getting done, no matter what,” he said, as if he could hear her thoughts.

“Yeah, even when she tangles with Gid," came the voice from somewhere behind them in the crowd. Judy whipped around. It was just something mentioned in conversation, not directed at any of them - but the damage was done.

“Gid?” Nick asked. He was too sharp to miss something like that, of course, and now there was something sharp in his tone, too. "As in Gideon Grey?"

The silence in the room rang. Judy turned from staring at the rabbits behind her, who at least seemed to realize this wasn't something they should have brought up here, to look Nick in the eye. "That's him."

Grandpa Otto leaned forward in his creaky chair, off to one side. "She didn't tell you that, did she? That fox took a swipe at her that day after the play. Cut her up something fierce.” He looked over at the front of the room. "I still don't know why you let him back here after what happened, Stu."

"Grandpa, I'm fine." Judy didn't look away. Nick hadn't reacted - much. None of her family would have caught it, but she was used to watching his ears move now. "We were kids."

Otto waved a dismissive paw. "That one was always a bully. His whole family was mean from the start, the day they moved in to Bunnyburrow. His parents encouraged it, you know. Rotten, I'd say."

"Gideon bakes pies now," Judy said, feeling herself getting dragged in anyway. "The ones you like so much, with the peaches on top. He works with my parents."

"Your parents never listened to me. He's still a fox."

Bonnie, on the other side of the room with a tray of drinks, rotated an ear. Stu stared at the whirring tape machine.

"Nick is a _fox_." Judy was on her feet, ignoring how the attention from the rest of the room, too, was sliding from idle to careful. "You think he's going to 'take a swipe' at me? We've been friends and partners for months now."

The elder rabbit rearranged himself on his chair and squinted at Nick. "Never met a predator that didn't cause trouble eventually," he said, as if his experience was the only one that carried any validity. "Especially foxes. The Greys, those shifty Marls down Heartwood Lane the police had to visit every two weeks. And this one's a slick city fox. You be careful around him, Judith."

\---

Judy was done listening after that. She pulled Nick with her, out of the greatroom and into the kitchen, where she could attack the ever-present pile of dishes next to the sink and nobody else in the room would give them strange looks.

Nick did his drying without complaint, and Judy felt horrible. Nick shouldn't have to stand there and take that kind of abuse from mammals who didn't care to know any better. But he wasn't going to get into any arguments, not where they might pull her in. He would sit on it, the way he sat on everything that might hurt her, no matter what it did to him.

The rain continued its steady patter on the kitchen windows and they worked their way throught the mountain of dishes, until the door swung open behind them.

"Mom."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." Bonnie set the tray on the table. "And you, too, Nicholas. My father comes from a different time, but that doesn't excuse anything he said. I want to apologize."

"I understand," Nick said. "Thank you."

"Your father's going to keep him occupied for the rest of the night," she said to Judy, and picked up a fresh tray to take back out to the greatroom. "If you would rather just disappear, we understand. It's hard when everyone's stuck inside."

Judy didn't want to hide from anyone or anything. It felt like conceding defeat. But the door closed behind her mother and Judy had to admit just being here alone with Nick's paws on her shoulders was the only thing she could really tolerate for the rest of the night.

Besides, they needed to talk.

Even this early in the evening, Judy had to chase loiterers from her bedroom doorway again. She needed her privacy tonight, and his. Before things could get any more tense.

She turned, the slamming door still echoing in her ears, and watched Nick lean back on his bed.

“I’m sorry.” She kept her voice low.

“You are full of surprises,” Nick said. "Excellent-Blueberry-Pies Gideon Grey went after you once?"

Judy stopped. "It's not about that. I thought Grandpa might have learned something since my parents started their little pie business."

"That's not your fault," Nick said. "He's going to think what he wants to think."

Judy sighed. "I should have told you. A long time ago. Now he's just baiting you.”

“I hate to disappoint him,” he said, and shrugged. “If you didn’t think it was important enough to talk about, I’m not going to worry about it.”

He beckoned her over, and switched out the light just as soon as she was within range. His strong paws bundled her up, two of them spooned together on a twin-size bed meant for one rabbit. His muzzle tucked behind the base of one of her ears, and Judy knew.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“It’s because I can never lie to you,” Nick said. He sighed against her. “What really happened?”

“It’s like you heard,” she said, and squeezed his paws. “After the play, I went Junior Detective on Gideon’s tail and he clawed me.”

“Do you have scars?”

“On my cheek.”

His paws were careful. Tender. And right now, Judy hated the rush his anxious touch gave her.

“I never knew,” he murmured in her ear, as he traced their thin contours through her fur. “All this time close to you, all these hours captured by your eyes, and I had no idea.”

“You’re worse than that street poet on seventh and elm.”

“Going to arrest me, Junior Detective?”

“It’s tempting.”

His arms and legs and tail tightened around her. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“And I will never add to this.”

 _Oh, no._ “Nick, I know that.” She squirmed around in his embrace. “Don’t do this. Not after all of today.”

“The world doesn’t know that.” Nick kissed her forehead and held it. “And I can only do so much about it. That's the point I'm trying to make here. Sometimes you’re the only one I can prove it to.”

“You shouldn’t ever have to prove it to anyone else.”

Judy didn’t know if her fire helped at all. Nick’s barriers were gone, stripped because when he was here with her in the dark he could be himself, paralyzing fears and all. And when those barriers did crumble - when things got to him and it fell to her to support him - sometimes she got scared, too. Of what it meant. Of how fragile he could be when he was wrapped around her like a shield.

“It does all make more sense, though,” he went on eventually. “Even old things, like why you almost drew on me after the press conference. What your parents did when you got hurt. It’s always been about keeping you safe. That’s why they worry."

"It's _wrong_ ," Judy said. She pushed Nick onto his back and kissed him as hard as she could, to try to turn all the jealousy and spite roiling around in her head into something she knew was good for them both, even if none of the others would acknowledge it. "You might have saved Wes' life today, and half of them still look at you like you're dangerous. My parents have the gall to apologize for Grandpa, but they won't even talk about how they were even more vicious and shortsighted in the hospital. It’s not fair.”

“Sometimes it's not,” Nick said, slipping back toward that cynical mental armor he’d worn for so long. “We can’t change what happened to them. But you shouldn’t hold it against them, either. Not your grandpa, and especially not your parents." He held her cheeks close. "I think they are learning, you know. Because we're trying to teach them. That's what you've always done, right? Try."

He had to hold her there and kiss away her protests for a long time. But as he worked on her, with a muzzle and clawtips that were as persuasive as any words; as she squeezed careful paws against the tension in his battered shoulders and neck - she saw it. He knew he was right. Not that _he would never hurt her_ ; she’d known that from day one. But that he might be able to change the minds that mattered. She could feel the same enthusiasm that had so driven her nine-year-old self to take risks and stand up to bullies and eventually make minor history.

She hated the idea that it was necessary at all. But if Nick was ready to make an opportunity of divisive memories and taxonomist sentiment, ready to pull her out of this funk so they could find the good in it together, she was going to be right there along with him. They already knew, after all, and they’d made it this far.

They couldn’t quit now.


	6. Chapter 6

_**One week ago.** _

The footfalls were impossibly close, metallic and grating, and Judy couldn't move fast enough to get out of the way. She never could, not with the stitch in her side that seared with pain at every breath. She was stuck in slow motion, with the feeling of dread and inevitability building along with the noise, and there was the huge rush behind her, and this time-

This time, the EKG's alert tone was layered on top of the racing telltale, harsh and discordant. Judy spiked awake, feeling as if she was falling, her stomach searing if it were on fire.

And still the tone continued, now with the steady blue illumination from the emergency summon. Too fast. Her heart rate was three hundred and climbing, that was too fast, she couldn't move, could slow down her breathing-

_Where was Nick-_

The door burst open to admit fluorescent hallway light, and the night shift doctor - another rabbit - and her parents. Fangmire, too, was right where he always was. She could see his alert ears over their heads in the hallway.

"Nick-"

"Ms. Hopps, please try to relax."

"I'm fine."

"You're hyperventilating," the doctor corrected. She stabbed a key on the EKG and at least one of the alarms quieted. "Try to take deep breaths."

That had never happened before. Judy nearly recoiled at the deft paws of the doctor on her wrists and at her neck. The lights snapped on and she winced, and squinted again anyway as the doctor turned her penlight on her pupils.

"Where's Nick?"

"He hasn't been here for days, sweetheart." Her mother hovered, clearly reluctant to get any closer while the doctor finished his work.

_"Because of you,"_ Judy hissed.

The doctor, apparently satisfied Judy wasn't in immediate danger of going into shock, checked over her dressings and her IV drip. Judy ignored her work.

"He couldn't stay, Jude." Stu shook his head. "Not while you're like this. It's not fair to you. You need rest-"

"You locked him out." Her voice broke. "You locked him out when I needed him most, and you don't _care_."

Her father moved toward her. "Jude-"

" _Don't touch me._ You can't help this. You can't do anything, it's not for you-"

_clunk-clunk_

Something somewhere thumped. It had to be totally innocent. Dumpsters in the alley below, maybe, or something tipping over a few doors down. But it was enough for Judy to feel in her chest, to rattle the bed, and the part of her brain that always, always heard the rhythm of Boots' footsteps now took over. She gasped. Her ears snapped to attention. The EKG chattered another warning.

"Ms. Hopps, relax. Deep breaths."

Judy did her best, but she couldn't tell if it was working. That scared her, too, the notion of being out of control of her own body. But the remedy was so simple, so obvious, and none of them wanted to consider it.

She needed him back.

"Just tell me where he is," she panted.

Her parents looked at each other. Stu wore a pinched expression, and didn't say anything. Bonnie looked between them.

"We don't know, sweetheart."

Judy balled her sheets in her fists and waited, waited for her breathing to slow. The doctor was making encouraging noises. She tuned them out.

_Hold it together._

_Hold it together, for him._

It was so hard. This was the worst Judy could ever remember her nightmares getting - straight into post-traumatic stress territory - but then she'd never had to deal with it herself until now. She had always been able to turn to Nick, right there next to her. At worst he was only ever a phone call away. He made this better. He kept both of them from ever sliding too far into the fear and the memories.

Was it as bad for him? She hated that thought, that he might suffer the same way, with even less of the context. But she couldn't reach out to him now. She didn't know what time it was; didn't know if he'd be out in the field. And if she did call, if she did tell him - she knew he wouldn't be able to stay away. Thanks to her parents, that could do permanent damage. Could keep him away from her even longer. She couldn't risk it.

She'd promised herself she'd fix the problem by working the case, so she could devote her full attention to eliminating the order. But the conviction she'd seized on felt so tenuous now. It would crumble in the face of much more of this. Like it or not, there was a limit to what she could handle herself.

Her breathing had evened, but Judy barely noticed. She kept her hold on the bedsheets, as if she might float away without that anchor, and waited. The doctor had retreated, into conversation with her parents. Their voices eventually faded, too, as they moved to the hallway and turned the lights back off.

Sleep wouldn't come again, and for that Judy was strangely grateful. She couldn't deal with that yet.

So she waited, in the strange twilight of tight-wound nerves and dull pain from her midsection. Her heart rate had slowed enough. She uncurled her fingers from the bed, ever so slowly.

She should work, came the stupid thought. If she was going to fight off sleep again, she might as well make progress. But there was nothing to pursue just now. ZPD's raid on the warehouse in Tundratown had gone off near-perfectly. None of them ever liked fatalities, but SWAT had taken lethal fire and had to respond in kind. Whistler was off the streets. The operation had been quarantined while evidence started to sort through the drugs. They'd get their break soon enough, and then she'd be able to do what she needed to.

It was almost reassuring.

Judy wasn't wearing a watch and wasn't near her phone, so her only measure of time was the splinter of sunset light that worked its way through the room's blackout curtains. It had disappeared entirely by the time she heard soft, urgent conversation out in the hallway again.

The door cracked, admitting someone Judy hadn't expected to see here.

"Marki?"

The snow leopard's eyes glimmered in the dark. And she left the lights off, maybe out of consideration for the time of night.

The sense of wrongness ticked back over. Marki was Nick's assigned partner while Judy recuperated, and it was dark out. Outside visiting hours. Fangmire had let her in right away anyway-

And she was wearing armor. Even in the gloom, Judy could see the white ZPD stenciled on the front of the cat's vest. There was a carbine across her back.

She sat up - a slow, painful process. "Marki, what is it?"

"Nick is safe," she said. Her ears flattened, and something in her usual careful demeanor softened. "He says he loves you."

Relief surged, tinged with love of her own and awareness that now Marki, too, knew. But with it came the immediate fear.

And as Marki talked, it only got worse.

\---

_**Present.** _

Her injury had wrenched her from sleep this time. It wasn't a nightmare - just enough pain to open her eyes. But in those few moments between sleep and wakefulness, as the memories of her nights in the hospital faded, the frightened parts of Judy's mind were wondering if maybe she actually had heard the footsteps.

Now she was restless. Uncomfortable. She couldn't skip ahead with painkillers and didn't like the idea of doubling up with any of the over-the-counter stuff she'd packed in her suitcase. A glass of water helped a little, but otherwise all she could do was sit on the edge of the bed and wait it out.

Nick was out like a light. He was curled up in bed probably because he had to be, because it was the only way he fit in it comfortably. But she knew from long nights of watching he slept like this even when he didn't have to, wrapped around a pillow, with his tail nearly brushing his nose. Sometimes he looked frightened in his sleep. Anxious. Other times, like now, his brow was clear. He really was comfortable here, she decided. At peace, at least for the moment.

It made this part all the harder.

But it was what they agreed to do for each other. Judy never held it against him when he woke her up. Not after 72-hour stakeouts where they both collapsed into bed, too tired to even strip for the night; not when he called her, panting, just hours before they were scheduled to start the week's sixth crack-of-dawn shift.

Whenever she felt Nick's paws on her cheeks those nights, and woke to see his own worried expression, as if he was afraid he'd startled her - she got that reminder. The most important thing in her universe became making sure he was all right. She knew he felt the same way.

So it wouldn't matter that she hadn't dreamed of Boots coming for her, or of the sizzling cold pain of a knife pushed below her vest. Not every stress was nightmares.

All the same, Nick jumped at her careful touch.

"Judy." He blinked the sleep from his eyes and pushed his head off the pillow. "You okay?"

"Just memories," she said. "I'm sorry to wake you."

"No," he murmured, and pushed the blankets off. "Come here. Actually-" he held up a paw and pulled the faded ZPD staff tee over his shoulders, so the lighter streak of fur on his chest and stomach shone in the moonlight from the window. "Now come here."

Three days apart? Maybe less? It still felt like forever. The bed was designed for a single rabbit and made alarming noises of strained wood and mattress springs, but it didn't matter. She was back in Nick's arms, right where she belonged, and that was enough to calm her down.

And there was a quiet little thrill to having him here with her, in her childhood room, curled around her with his paws under her shirt. The door didn't lock, and she knew Nick would be thinking of that risk, even as he settled his claws against her fur. Her parents were just a few doors down, maybe even awake. She would let them disapprove. Liked to think, just for that spiteful little moment, that they worried themselves insomniac over things like this. Nick was her fox, and she was his rabbit. This room was their little world now, and what anyone else thought didn't matter.

"Just memories," Nick prompted, misinterpreting her little shiver of guilty pleasure. He had his muzzle down, his lips against her shoulder.

"Of the night Marki came and filled me in," Judy said. Of the night Baird had called Nick. She didn't want to get too far into it, not when it was still such a loaded subject for him. She'd woken him this time; she didn't want to make it any harder for him to get back to sleep, too.

Of course, he did that himself. She felt him nod and tighten his arms around her. "I should have been there."

He'd been busy. She'd been stuck. They both knew that was how it had to be, even if there hadn't been legally enforceable distance orders standing between them. It probably would have gone the same way without it. They would have needed to see the case closed either way.

And it had worked. Nick had done what he had to, and come back to her, to hold her as close as he always did. And then they'd come out here, to tackle the other problem together.

Three days apart, maybe less.

But she had fallen apart in less time, when she hadn't had him there beside her to talk to.

"Nick?"

"Mm."

She dug her fingers into the soft fur of his chest. "Before you took in Baird. Before that night in your apartment. Did you have bad dreams?"

It took him a minute of his careful paws against her stomach for him to answer.

"I didn't sleep as much as I should have."

"And?"

He tapped a resigned muzzle against the top of her head. "Boots woke me up once. And Whistler."

"You know I should have been there for you, too."

"You were busy."

"That's no excuse," she murmured. "You had the harder job."

"Is that what we're doing now?" Nick forced his voice light. "I'd settle for never having to compete again."

Judy had to give him that one. He didn't like having to remind her, any more than she liked remembering. But they'd come through that, hadn't they? They were together now. They had the chance - and the need - to put something behind them. If they didn't, the nights would just get worse.

"Are you okay, Nick?"

He caught on fast. "I will be."

"You said you needed to talk about what happened."

"I want you to be able to take this time to heal," Nick said, and sure enough he was closing down a bit. His body language went from intimate to patient. "It can wait."

"Can it?" Judy reached up to put a paw along his cheek, so he would look down at her. "I know you want to do this on your terms, so that it doesn't bother me. But you're supposed to be healing, too, and you won't even show me where it hurts."

His ears flattened. "You already have so much to balance."

"Nick, please. We had to do very different things to get through this case. I understand that. But the memories are waking me up. The nightmares are waking you up."

"Not since you came back."

"It's still there." Judy shook her head. "You need this as much as I do. If we weren't out here we would both have all the facts right now, you know that."

His expression hurt. There were any number of reasons he might be reluctant to share. For all she knew, she would end up wanting him to have kept the details to himself.

But that wasn't fair to him. It wasn't how they operated. This would be penance, of a sort. For what she'd done to kick off the whole chain of events that led to Nick's experience that night at Sarona Tower. She had to know. No matter what had happened.

"I know," he said. His muzzle pressed against her forehead, tucking her against his chest. "Will you wait for morning?"

They'd broached the subject, she wanted to say. They had time now. A chance to be close to each other and share what they had to.

But Nick still wasn't quite ready. Judy had to push down on the reflexive objection.

Instead she held his jealous, frightened paws tight, to give him the love that she could.

\---

Nick was up before her, before even the sun they'd taken to waiting for. She noticed the cold around her, where she was alone in the bed. But Judy had just enough time to sit up and register the room was empty and Nick was ducking back through the door, two mugs of fresh coffee in his paws, his eyes on his feet so he didn't trip on the threshold the way he had so many times already. Judy slipped off the bed.

"Good morning."

"Hi, sweetheart." He put the mugs on the little bedside table long enough to return her hug. "Did you sleep well?"

She nodded against his chest.

"I told your mom we were going to take some time before we showed up for breakfast," he said.

"Should I get the transcripts? The case file is in my bag."

"No, it's okay." Nick sat on the bed opposite her and watched to make sure she drank some of her breakfast. "I'd rather do this myself."

And he kept his careful green eyes on her the whole time.

Judy listened to his descriptions of the rooftop, and of the shootout and chase, and of the last internal decision it turned out she had helped him make, after all. She held her tongue and listened to him recount the frightening, powerful mindset he'd almost given over to. Bringing it back now was painful. That much was obvious. But it was cathartic for him, too, enough that he was changing even as he sat there. He didn't have to bear it alone anymore.

And it wasn't as bad as it could have been, the logical part of her mind said. The Boots case - and the Baird case after it - had only gotten cleaner, technically. Fewer mammals had died. Injuries and damage had decreased.

But Baird was personal, said the emotional part, and she couldn't blame Nick for thinking that way, or for wanting to spare her the knowledge of what he had nearly done. Not all damage was external, not even when Baird or Boots made it so immediate. It didn't stop at the little notch the speeding glass had taken out of his ear in the parking garage all those weeks ago.

Her own experiences with _personal_ had sent her nearly catatonic with fear and stress more than once, and that was only half of what they'd had to do. It was no wonder Nick had run into bad dreams.

She stood between the beds and looked up at his careful ears.

"You got through it. You found the line."

"I almost didn't," he said. "There are things I didn't know I was ready to do. I don't ever want that to hurt you."

Judy crossed the distance to him, right up against him. She trusted him more than that, and this was the best way she knew how to prove it. "I love you."

He was holding onto her like he might lose her. "I know."

"And we'll get through this part, too. Together, like we're supposed to."

"It's going to take a while." Nick pressed a paw against the fresh bandages on her midsection. "And not just because of this."

"That's okay, Nick."

She let him draw her into his lap. They sat there, long enough that the beam of morning sunlight started to crawl across the woven edge of the rug.

Nick had done something terrible, and then almost gone on to do something even worse. But Judy didn't want it to apply here. Not when he was with her. She knew him better than any drug ringleader or chief of police or staff psychologist ever could. She knew who he really was, and what he wanted to be.

"What does the probation mean?" Judy asked. "You'll still be able to work with me, I assume."

"Yes. Bogo says he would rather have us annoying each other," Nick said. "You might want to get ready for paperwork, though. We won't be doing anything high-stress for a while."

"We'll survive that, too," she said. She squeezed his paw in hers. "Thank you for telling me."

"I still don't like thinking about it here," he admitted, watching the dust motes drift around. "It's why I never wanted to bring it back. I mean, this is your childhood room."

"It's your room now, too." Judy looked up at him. "At least a little bit. Every time we come back we'll be in here." A private spot. Like her couch in his apartment, or his battered green one taking up most of the space in hers. "We can leave it outside. The way we do at home. We don't even have to think about it in here if we don't have to."

"You mean the way we figured out how to make everything else work?" His arms tightened around her and he stood them up, so her legs dangled. She squirmed and looked up, and he planted a hungry little kiss on the top of her muzzle and held it, in what felt like some conscious effort to move on, to make good on that idea that they were supposed to be alone in here. His tail wrapped around one of her footpaws. "It makes too much sense, Carrots."

Her laugh became a hiccup. She reached a paw for his neck and nuzzled him back. "It's worth a shot."

"I hear you farm things here sometimes," he said, after he stopped kissing her so she could breathe. His own was hot and coffee-scented.

"Sometimes," she said.

"I feel compelled to assist."

It was just what he needed. Just him, and her, and the sunlight and the dirt. He let her down, carefully, and Judy turned to kiss him properly one last time before she held onto his paw and led him to the door.

"Then let's get some actual breakfast."


	7. Chapter 7

Nick was fit and trim - to the point of distraction, sometimes - but he was right: he'd never really farmed a day in his life.

By ten in the morning he was bent over his little rabbit-sized rake like it was holding him up. Even with the longest handle they'd been able to find it was still a bit too short to be comfortable. He snatched gratefully at the water bottle Judy passed over and drank deep.

Still, he was doing a good job. Judy looked over his section of the furrow. Perfect turns, at just the right depth; ready for planting.

"Nice work."

"I traded endurance for precision," he panted. "You make me do this again it's not going to look near as good."

"Lucky for you, I think we're done with this part." Judy let him hold onto the water and hopped three furrows over to where her father was tuning the little seed rig. "Right?"

Stu looked sideways at her. He'd actually spoken directly to Nick a few times today, without any prompting. They'd discussed work and little else, of course, but it was Stu. Talking about work felt like immeasurable progress. The way to his heart seemed to be through the crops. No surprise.

The fact that Nick might have saved a couple lives yesterday ago must have helped, too.

It wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. The loss estimates from the hail were at about three percent. No structural damage. Just the one injury. Everyone's relief was palpable, and seemed to motivate them to boot.

"That'll do nicely." He stood back and let the other rabbits running the machine start it down the rows so it would dispense seeds in an even pattern. He consulted the same little spiral-bound set of laminated cards he'd had last afternoon, the ones covered in maps. Everyone else used the tablets linked to the farm network, and radios, but not her dad.

"There's one more patch that needs a weeds pass up northwest," he said, and pointed it out so Judy could orient herself. "You two want to go clear it out? Shouldn't take long; you'll be done in time for lunch."

_You two._ It was careful language still, which was strange coming from Stu. He was so straightforward with almost everything else. But he did seem to be trying, and it seemed to be because no one else around them had reacted poorly to the unfamiliar fox yet.

Not even the bump from the hailstorm could unseat that caution, it seemed. Nick still made ripples just by being here. He was careful around Judy; even more so now that they were working directly with her family in the fields. Unfailingly polite. Reserved, almost; taking his cues from her because this was her home turf. It was working, just more slowly than Judy would have liked. It wasn't just her father: the fragile impression she was getting from many of her siblings, the ones who had worked alongside Nick all morning, was something like _maybe this one's like Gideon._

The comparison wasn't fair to Nick or Gideon, but it was a step forward for now. Judy looked at the relaxed set to Nick's ears and let it be.

"Sure thing." She held out her paw for the water bottle as he stepped up. Stu dusted his paws, made brief, neutral eye contact and moved on to pace the seed planting machine.

Nick withheld comment. "What do I need for this one? Shovel? Hoe?"

"Bucket." Judy took a drink. "And a weed puller."

"Of course it's called a weed puller."

They collected a bucket from the nearest truck and set out on foot. It wasn't much of a walk, and Judy's abdomen wasn't bothering her this afternoon.

The soil was as lush and well-kept here as anywhere else on the farm - maybe even more so, thanks to its proximity to the lake. It was perfect for growing crops, and perfect for the the little opportunist weeds that sprung up despite all the expert control.

Judy handed Nick a tool and pointed the little plants out with her own. "Anything that looks like that. Watch your pads, too. The baby thistles have worse barbs than the big ones."

Nick was hefting the tool. "This is a glorified stick."

"It's a weed puller."

"Someone ripped you off, then."

"We made it here," Judy giggled. "In the machine shop. Look, you can see the brand on the end of the handle. They work, trust me."

And with two of them they made good time. Nick worked across from her, alternating weeds, until he had the hang of the lever motion that made the tools so effective. With that mastered, he raced her, sometimes challenging her to little weed puller swordfights there in the dirt to have the honor of removing the biggest ones, until they had filled the bucket and made it to the end of the little patch.

"Ow."

"I told you," she said.

"Yeah, well I- _ow._ Why are there even thorns? What do they have to protect?" Nick held up the offending stalk between two claws. "They don't taste good, do they?"

Judy sat and laughed at him. "They'll make you sick, actually."

"I'll take your word for it." He tossed it at the full bucket and missed. Judy made to get to her feet, but Nick reached over from where he'd sat beside her and took her paw.

"What?"

He snorted to cover how her reaction put him a bit off balance. " _What._ Like I need an excuse? Okay. Your paws are dirty."

"From good hard work."

His were in no better shape. He was just rubbing the soft brown soil further into their fur as he closed his fingers around hers. "I could get used to it."

At that, Judy did sit back. Their busy little morning already seemed a long way off, what with the work her father had put them to. Now, with their stopping point, she dug her toes into the fresh, cool earth and savored the careful attention. Did her best to return it. For the first time in what felt like a long time, they were free to focus on _them_ , without the weight of knowledge dragging on him or the fear of the unknown on her. This was another place where they could be themselves.

And Judy was more than happy to take that moment and push it further into the new. She pressed all the way onto Nick's lap, and he tilted his muzzle to tuck it against her throat, and for those few sun-stained moments dirty paws were the least of their worries.

She didn't look up until the whir of a light motor caught her ear.

Sharon was at the wheel of one of the UTVs, with a whole gang of kits along for the ride. Judy felt Nick getting his distance before any of the noticed. She tilted him a sympathetic ear.

"Lunchtime," Sharon called. She loaded the emergency brake and turned to her passengers. "Okay, go."

They all spilled out, Winter in the lead, to deliver sandwiches in parchment paper and mason jars full of lemonade. Nick wound up with three little bundles pressed into his paws.

"This looks good," Judy said. "Thank you! Thank you."

Sharon shook her head as she drew up. "Sorry about the state of the sandwiches. We're still learning how to stack them nicely."

Judy watched Nick down half of his first sandwich in one bite, a feat that drew surprised gasps and laughter from the others. "I don't think we're going to notice. Thanks for the food."

"It's our turn to bring lunch to the field teams," Sharon explained to Nick. "Even if kits aren't old enough to help out with farming yet, there's always something to do. You two are the last deliveries. And I promised them they could go swimming."

"Swimming!"

Sharon looked up, ears forward, all responsible adult again, and ran a quick count as they dashed for the water's edge.

"I get six."

"Six," Judy confirmed. It was reflexive, after a lifetime of looking after younger siblings. "So soon after eating? Mom never would have let us do that."

"There's not that much truth to the wait time thing," Sharon said. "Cramps are subjective."

"You're the doctor."

"Nurse."

The kits splashed in the little waves and raced across the giant, rickety log that bridged the shore and the little island, where there was a hammock and a rope swing into the water. Winter stood with her footpaws in the shallows, watching intently.

"She won't join them?" Judy asked.

"She knows better, even if she really wants to go out there." Sharon smiled and waved down at Winter. "I'm teaching her to swim, but it's slow going. She's not quite comfortable in the water yet, and you know how that bridge is. No matter what we do to it it's always been a deathtrap."

They'd made a game of it, of course. Judy had memories of falling off of the slick, shifting wood more often than she managed to stay on. She wondered idly how much better she'd be at it now, after a couple stints on the Police Academy's training courses. But with her injury she wasn't too keen on immersing herself in lake water. She was healing, but there was no point in taking chances.

Sharon was looking over their progress. "You finished in time to come to the bonfire tonight."

"Oh, no." Judy looked around. "You're going to drag Nick through Hopps singalongs?"

"It wasn't my idea," Sharon said.

"It is a bad one, though," Nick put in. "I can't sing."

"It's a tradition, sort of," Judy explained. "Every couple of weeks in the summer we roast marshmallows and have some fun. The kits sleep in the barn and everything."

"Do I have to sing?"

"You do not have to sing."

\---

And they did not sing.

They sat on an old log bench, a comfortable distance from the roaring fire at the center of the little lot in font of the barn, and listened to everyone else sing. When they got together like this, even a bunch of farmers could do a decent impression of a trained choir. Judy watched Nick carefully, as he took in yet another thing he'd never experienced before. His expressions were a guilty pleasure.

It was a bit strange, being the adult at the periphery after so many years of being right up by the fire with her siblings, roasting s'mores and casting shadow puppets. They were strong memories.

"Did you ever do anything like this?"

"What, attend bonfires?" Nick shook his head. "The smoke is rough on my nose after a while, and flames ruin night vision. And there were the fire regs in the city. You know those are strict."

"You're no fun."

"I'm just saying." Nick shrugged. "We went on a campout once, in scouts. Before."

"I get it," Judy said. She pushed her bracing paw over on the bench between them so it rubbed against Nick's. "What did you do on summer nights, then?"

"Went to the park occasionally. Or I would climb to a quiet roof, or hang out in the alley behind the apartment. I was a regular urchin."

He wasn't an urchin anymore, though. She looked him up and down the next time he averted his nose from the billowing heat and smoke. He cut a fine figure in his dirt-stained utilities, if she was honest. He was as adult as she was - more, if she'd ever bothered to count the years between them - and turned all too fast a responsible member of society. That was her fault.

The career change, the second chance - that he deserved, and she was happy she'd played some small part in giving it to him. Seeing him fulfilled was so rewarding, so warm. It had come with more pain than anyone should have to endure, but it seemed everything they did carried some cost like that. They were figuring out how to make it work.

They sat there and she curled her fingers a bit tighter around his. They watched the wind-borne sparks float up and away from the flames, until Winter ghosted out of the shadows beside them, bearing a wooden skewer with the scorched remains of three marshmallows. Judy jumped.

"Are these for us?"

Winter nodded eagerly. The marshmallows bobbed. "For you. And-" She frowned and chewed on the unfamiliar name. "Nick."

He looked over and raised an eyebrow. "Delectable."

"Stop it," Judy chided him. "Have you ever had a roasted marshmallow?" She reached for the skewer, where the burnt shells gave a faint crunch in her fingers. The insides were still hot and gooey. Perfect.

"Once or twice."

"Not like this, I'll bet." Judy's paw was a mess. She dithered for a moment, but this far back from the firelight the only one paying any attention was Winter. "Here. Open up."

Nick glanced at Winter but obediently cranked his jaw open. Judy placed the treat in his teeth and took another for herself.

It was excellent, all smoky carmelization on the outside and creamy sweetness on the inside. She watched as Nick chewed.

"It's not bad, actually," he said. "I used to think they were ruined when they were this far gone."

"Your loss. Most of ours end up this way, on account of kids liking fire even more than sugar. We learned to love the taste early on."

Winter had demolished her marshmallow, too. Her muzzle and paws were a mess. Judy pulled a handkerchief from a thigh pocket and scrubbed her down. Winter tolerated the assault and looked on, eyes wide, as Nick licked his chops.

"Sharp."

Nick froze and his teeth vanished, but it was too late. Winter hopped up, fascinated, and approached so fast Nick held out a paw.

"Careful, Winter," Judy said.

"Why?" she asked. Nick's paw was in her way, so she fastened on that instead, her eyes on his claws. He stopped moving. Judy looked around to make sure nobody was watching their way again.

It was a really good question, she realized. Winter was too young to grasp the difficult concept of _the way things were_. She had no filter yet.

Or - Judy hadn't considered this, and the guilt pressed on her ribs - maybe she did, and she'd decided for herself what was dangerous and what wasn't. She caught Nick's eye. "Don't want to hurt him."

"It's okay, Carrots," Nick murmured. He twitched his paw open. Winter's little fingers hung off his big ones so she could inspect his claws. "She's very gentle."

The others probably wouldn't see it this way, of course. Worrying about what the little ones did was ingrained from their own childhoods in the burrow, as a survival and social mechanism. The fox showing off his claws would be quite the red flag. Judy felt the old reflex herself - but then she'd spent months grinding it away. She knew how to ignore it now.

And she wasn't going to put a stop to this. Maybe this was how change started - the same change she'd gone through the hard way. Maybe she could spare her sister that.

Winter was pressing at his claws with her own fingers. She looked up at Judy.

And Judy risked an encouraging smile. "He's impressive, isn't he?"

"Sharp," Winter said again.

\---

It didn't come up again until they'd settled down for the night. Tonight, instead of Judy's room, they were in the barn, where he'd prodded her to help chaperone the kits who were still making a ruckus below them, even at this hour.

Their seniority guaranteed them the best sleeping position, in the hay loft where they'd be able to watch over everything - and where they'd have a bit of privacy themselves. Judy sat on the little rampart of hay bales and watched Nick smooth out the blanket he'd acquired from somewhere. He caught her eye.

"We're a dangerous influence, the two of us," she said.

"I thought you liked being a dangerous influence."

She joined him on the impromptu mattress. "There's reckless ambition that forces me and everyone around me to reconsider their preconceptions, and then there's stuff that will get you-" she prodded his chest ruff, showing cream through the few buttons he had undone- "thrown out."

"I love you, too." His claws pricked this time, because he knew she could handle it, because he knew she loved it. "Winter's a good kid. Smart."

"You like her."

"Your dad called her fearless." Nick slipped his muzzle under her cheek and rumbled in the back of his throat. "She reminds me of you."

"She could show them," Judy said. "She knows what the rest of them are too afraid to. She wasn't scared of the big bad fox."

"Am I a _big bad fox?_ "

"Big, yes."

_Bad_ \- no.

Noticeable? When he wanted to be, oh, yes. He kept running his muzzle over hers, using his scale to cover every inch of her face and neck, using his gentle teeth on her ears. It became a contest, and a challenge to keep it quiet. They were supposed to be out here keeping an ear on the kits, after all, and instead they were setting about the worst possible example, doing things they'd only ever tried behind locked doors. Just as well they'd hear anyone climbing the rickety ladder to their loft.

Judy was getting a bit past caring, though - so much so that Nick had to hold her up off of him a bit.

"Nice and slow," he breathed.

She gave him her best smoky look, and smiled as he nearly melted through the floor. "Part of you doesn't believe that."

Nick flushed. "That's the last part of me I want to get tased, too." He pulled her around so she was little spoon and rolled them in the blanket.

Judy pouted - and twitched as she, too, felt just how much of an effect she could have on him. "Whoa."

_"Stop it,"_ he whined. "Too risky, Carrots. I mean it."

"Rabbits don't care," she said. She wanted to make him squirm again. "If we're quiet I bet we could hear three different couples out in the fields from here."

Nick rolled them over again, pressing them closer together. "Please."

She had to respect that, she knew, as much as that new pressure sent little thrills through her. She had to keep her hips still.

But the promise it carried - that was enough to keep her giddy as they drifted off together.


	8. Chapter 8

Judy liked to think there was just a little extra to Nick's glances the next day.

It was noticeable even at a distance, from where he was out on the backyard lawn assisting with the latest bit of hardware installation. Her father had him pulling his weight, assembling a new irrigation system to check it for integrity before they moved it into place out in the fields.

Every so often Nick would look over from where he was tightening pipe joints, through the window into the kitchen, and his tail would pick up behind him. It was adorable, and so unlike the cautious, cynical fox she'd met more than a year ago now. So unlike the one she'd first brought home, for that matter.

Judy felt a wet prod. Sharon was menacing her with another soapy plate.

"What are you daydreaming about, anyway?"

"Sorry." Judy took the plate and rinsed it so she could dry it and stack it on the counter. "Just happy that dad is warming up to Nick, is all. He even smiled once."

Her sister followed her gaze out the window. "He does seem pretty harmless."

"Sharon."

"That's what dad's thinking," she said, and raised a bubble-covered paw in defense. "It just took him a while."

"He wouldn't hurt a fly," Judy said. "You've seen how Winter loves him."

"Winter loves everything. Even dangerous things. She saw her first hail last week. Even worse than this one. She wouldn't leave the window."

"Maybe Winter knows something you don't."

Sharon looked thoughtful.

Judy should drop it, she knew, before anything riskier came out. There was a lot Sharon would forgive her. She was her closest sister, and still her second-best friend. But Judy was still probably alone in knowing that Winter didn't have anything to fear from Nick.

"It helps he's a cop, I think."

"We're all about setting good examples," Judy agreed, and tried not to think too hard about what Nick's paws and teeth had done last night. She still reeked of him, she knew. And she loved it. But if she got too into it here, well - that was another thing Sharon had always called her on.

"Was it your idea? Working with him?"

"Yes. He's kind of the reason I'm still on the force. Would you believe I got in over my head right off the bat?"

"I'd be surprised if you weren't." Sharon scrubbed at stubborn breakfast detritus. "You're reckless, Jude. It's been, what, six months? And you're still getting stabbed."

Judy looked down at herself to cover the embarrassment. Swap _Jude_ for _Carrots_ and Sharon would sound just like Nick. "That part never gets much safer."

"What did he do?"

Sharon wasn't stupid - in fact, she was still the smarter one, in Judy's estimation. Now she had to play this very carefully. She rubbed at nonexistent suds under the rinse water to buy herself time.

"Nick carried on," she abbreviated, and controlled her ears. "Did his job, and the parts of mine that I couldn't."

Sharon washed another three plates.

"Was coming here with you your idea, or his?"

"We both thought it was a good way to spend leave. What makes you ask?"

Sharon looked out at Nick again, where he'd dodged out of the way of the now-functioning sprinkler and its gentle umbrella of water. "There's something about the way he acts around you. He's really careful, and it's not because he's a predator, and you're prey. It's different."

Judy wasn't bedridden anymore. She was walking on her own, with less and less need for any assistance every day. But this was making her feel just as helpless as she had that night in the hospital, when her father had made his slow turn to Nick and demanded the truth, as if she wasn't even there.

"Are you saying he's interested in me?"

Sharon's ears rotated to. She couldn't hide her fascination. Yes, in other words. That was exactly what she was saying.

"Look at him," she said, as if Judy didn't spend most of her free time doing just that. Nick caught her eye and his tail went off again, and guilt spooled in Judy's chest. "It's a little weird, Jude. There's always one ear coming your way. When someone talks to you, he watches them way too closely. It's like he thinks he has to protect you."

It was spot on, and Judy's mouth was dry. Nick's concern for her eroded his barriers. They both knew it. But it was worse than either of them had caught on, it seemed. "You a behavioral psychologist now? I thought you'd finished school."

"So you do think about it."

Judy should have known better than to try to change the subject. She and Sharon had a decade of experience sparring like this now, and her sister hadn't lost a step at all.

And now they were on their way over the edge. Judy looked out at Nick, rubbing the moisture from the sprinkler out of his headfur and laughing along with several of the other rabbits, and thought of what he'd done for her when he'd been in this very position.

"So what if I do?"

"What?" Sharon's ears dropped, slowly. "Jude, you don't honestly think that would work. It can't be safe."

" _Can't be safe?_ Why? Because Nick might hurt me? Because he's got teeth, and claws sharper than mine?" She snorted. "You weren't there for this part, so I'll fill you in: we're way past that being any kind of problem."

Her sister stared. She was getting it, all right, and Judy's heart sank.

"But he's a fox."

"Your eyes work," Judy snapped, disgusted. Were they ever going to get someone who didn't immediately hang up on something so old-fashioned? "How's your nose?" She lowered her chin. "Go on."

Sharon looked reluctant now, but she leaned over - and her ears dropped the rest of the way. Her eyes were huge with the automatic fear that Judy had spent the last year grinding away.

"Jude..."

"We've never been scared of what it means," Judy said. "I'm not asking you to just smile and nod, but you could at least try not being so reflexive. I'd thought you might have started."

"You're the one who dropped him in our laps. No wonder Mom and Dad look so stressed." Sharon was shaking her head in comprehension. "That's why you're really here, isn't it? And to think I bought your co-worker line, too. That he was a friend."

"I'm here because we both got sent onto leave when mammals started dying on our watch," Judy said. It was the other half of the truth. "I'm not going to leave him alone to deal with that."

Sharon shot a look at the closed kitchen door. "And you thought the best way to do that was to bring him back here for it, where nobody knows him at all."

"Nick is not a threat to anyone. You know what he did during the storm. He cares about everyone here."

"Jude, there are _kits_ here. You're already not setting good examples for them at all. Mom and Dad never-"

"Winter's not scared of Nick," she ground out. They were going to go over this anyway, it seemed. "You missed that, too, didn't you? She was with us all night during the bonfire last night, playing with his paws. She knows. She's learned already."

Sharon was aghast. "I can't believe you. She's two years old."

"And you sound as taxonomist as Grandpa Otto," Judy said. "You want to string me up for deciding to love someone, I can't really stop you. But leave Winter out of this."

"No." Sharon dropped her rag on the counter, going from unease to a much hotter anger. It was all in the ears. "There are _limits_ , Jude, even for you. And someone has to look out for her, because you're obviously not going to."

It hurt to watch her closest sibling turn to leave like this, to have to confront the knowledge that yes, she could push so hard on her family that it did damage. Judy wanted to reach for her, but she knew that would just make things worse.

"Are you just going to hide her away for the rest of our visit? She'll ask why."

"At least she'll be safe."

"Sharon, please." It sounded desperate. It was desperate. "Don't make things any more difficult for him than they already are."

"For _him?_ "

The parallels to what Nick did for her were immediately, unavoidably apparent. Judy winced. But she was committed now. "You know Nick appreciates the stakes. He's not about to stir the pot here."

"He won't need to, when everyone else starts to put it together and this all falls apart around you."

Judy tried again. "Please."

"You keep him away from her." Sharon turned her head at the door, breathing hard. "You keep him away from her, for as long as he's here, and I'll keep your recklessness to myself, for as long as that's going to matter."

They both jumped as the main door opened. Bonnie came in with an armload of cookware, and it was clear she'd already detected the mood, in that way mothers did.

"Oh."

"Did you know?" Sharon demanded.

"We did, honey." Bonnie gave Judy a sympathetic glance. "It's been a long week for all of us."

Sharon just made a disgusted noise and stalked out. The door thumped shut behind her. Bonnie spent a long moment looking after her.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart."

Judy shrugged, halfhearted. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough."

Judy took over Sharon's dish duties automatically, for something to do so she wouldn't have to look directly at what had just happened. "She makes it sound like I don't care about any of the others. You know that's not true, right? You know I never would have brought Nick back here if I thought anyone would actually be in danger for it."

"You told us that the day you came back," her mother said, and finished stowing the dishes she'd brought in. "But you're seeing how it can be tough. This is different, for all of us."

Judy listened to her mother come up behind her and endured the hug she probably needed. They watched Nick help carry the sprinkler out to its final position, down the path and out of sight. "What will it take for them to see it? He loves me more than anything else."

"So I'm smelling."

"Mom." Judy bristled.

Bonnie's eyes were wide, too. "You two did this to yourselves," she pointed out. "I just hope if anyone out there gets a good whiff of him that he's as fast on his paws as you are."

Judy sighed and dropped it. "He'll be fine. He taught me everything I know about cons."

Her mother swallowed the _be careful_ Judy knew she really wanted to say. "If you're right, we'll all eventually get there. And he does seem happy, for what it's worth."

"I want him to be," Judy said, and leaned back against her mother's apron, feeling like a little kit in a big world again. "But things _happened_ on this last case, mom, and we're only just now figuring them out. He shouldn't have to deal with being the fox on top of it. That's not fair."

Bonnie hugged her again, and didn't point out Judy's decision to bring him here had put everyone on edge. She didn't say anything about the awareness that still moved around the farm with Nick at its center, even after everything they'd done here together already. She didn't say anything about Winter. It was probably just tact, but Judy wanted to believe it was trust. In her, and in Nick. Her mother had come a long way in a short time. For that, Judy was grateful.

"You've always figured it out."

"Yeah."

Her mother nodded, almost to herself. "Then you keep figuring it out."

\---

She was totally right, of course. And figuring it out was what they did. But even when they had time alone for the night again, back in Judy's bedroom, she worried it wasn't going to be easy.

Nick was showering, late, now that most of the hallways were clear. She stood by the bed and half-listened to the running water in the distance. A good part of her wanted to join him, even though she'd already cleaned up for the night. They'd done that a couple of breathless, awkward times, in the mornings they'd woken up together almost late for work. It could give them both some of the intimacy they'd started to crave in the last couple of days.

He wouldn't like the risk, though. Not even with the door that actually locked.

So she stayed where she was and worked through her stretching and breathing exercises instead. The pain was receding more every day. Now all she had to deal with was the stiffness and weakness of muscles that hadn't been used in a while. She still couldn't run - even a fast walk left her with a stitch in her side - but she could stand on her own now.

That was how Nick found her when he slipped in the door, wearing his ZPD tee again and carrying his farm-dirtied utilities.

"You're overdressed," Judy said.

Nick directed a blank look into midair. "I wasn't informed."

She threw her shirt at him. "It's a new rule."

He caught it, added his to the little pile on the bed, and wandered over to watch. Yes, Judy was hurt, with bandages still around her midsection, but she hadn't been out of it near long enough to lose any of her edge. Nick liked reminding her.

He knelt in front of her and placed his paws on her hips, just below her wrappings, and watched her breathe. "You're doing well."

"Mhm."

"Raise your arms."

She did. He reached up to press on the outside of her elbows, pushing her arms into the complete extension she still couldn't quite manage yet. It stretched her out. She was sore, and it felt good.

"I saw you and dad being civil out there this afternoon," she said.

Nick smiled. "I think we're making progress."

"Has he started calling you by name yet?"

He let her go, and his paws traveled a bit. "Yes."

Judy hadn't expected that, actually, and it added a bittersweet cast to what she knew she had to do. She held her breath as Nick tucked his muzzle against the soft fur of her chest and pushed, sliding his cheek all the way up to her neck, re-marking her. She indulged in it, more than she should - but she didn't know if he even recognized he was doing it.

She never wanted him to have to weigh something so intimate, so real. Loving her was an inextricable part of who he was now, and she worried he was going to take this as her pulling away.

"Sharon caught on this afternoon," she said.

She didn't want to elaborate, and she didn't really need to. Nick understood, all right, and pulled her straight into the hug. "I knew she was smart."

"Of all my family, I thought she might have been the one making progress," Judy said. "She's not exactly going to court, but she didn't take it well, either. She's scared for Winter, for no good reason."

Her fox watched her, and when they were this close there was no missing the quiet pain in his expression. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"Why are you apologizing? You're not the one judging everyone based on ancient, outdated fear."

"I don't ever like seeing you hurt," he said, and shrugged. "Same reason you had to drag the case notes out of me."

They sat on the bed. Judy leaned against him and let him hold her tight, let him brush the fur of her ears, flat along her back. It wasn't enough. He couldn't do too much here, not while they were just one accidental door away from everyone else.

"She's better than that. I know she is. This is just like my parents, all over again."

"We are not them, Carrots." Yes, the jealousy was definitely back. And the fear. She could feel it in the way his claws moved, in the way his tail curled around her to rest in her lap and keep her close. "Our jobs, our perspective - it's all different. Don't let it discourage you."

It was hard. For every step they made forward together, it seemed some of the ground they'd covered crumbled underneath them. Her father warmed to Nick, and Sharon pushed away. They sowed seeds and watered crops alongside dozens of her siblings, and Judy forgot the most important lessons of patience and sharing their partnership had taught them.

And for every memory they forged out here, every moment by the lakeside or in the hay loft they could grab, there was the reminder that Nick was a visitor. An outsider, who garnered suspicion and fear just for wanting to be close to her and keep her safe.

"I'm so tired of everyone waiting for you to become some boogeyman that I know you're not," she said.

"You're the most determined mammal I've ever known," Nick said. His voice was thick. "So much that it rubs off on me when I'm staring down armed psychopaths. But two hundred-odd minds are a lot to change at once. You're still pushing on them."

He never stopped reminding her, just like she never stopped trying to gain and hold ground with her family's impressions of him. Both of them were so important, and Judy felt so weary sometimes, trying to balance that impossibility on top of recovering from physical injury, and from the rigors of the case. Talking about it had helped - but she worried it wasn't going to be enough.

"Because they won't see you're not a threat," Judy said. She turned to face him. "Weren't you the one who said you wanted to show them that?"

"They have to be willing to see, Carrots." Nick sighed against her ear. "We can't force that."

"So what, we just keep letting them stare at your claws and teeth?" Judy despaired. "Keep letting them think you're sizing each of them up any time you look over at them? Sharon said that, you know. That you watch everyone really closely."

"They're probably right," Nick said after a moment. He shook his head at her reaction. "About all of it. I am a predator. And I look out for you more than I should sometimes."

"It doesn't matter. You do that because you love me."

"To the rest of them, it still does matter. None of them have cracked hard cases with me like you have, or dealt with the fallout. Not all of them saw what happened during the storm. Not all of them who did are going to care. To ask them to know what you know, to take your word for it - is a whole lot."

"And that makes it warranted?"

"Some of it is warranted." The pain flickered in his ears again. He held his paws out and had to raise his voice a bit over her protests. "Think about it, Carrots. What would go through their heads, if they saw what happened that night with Baird? They wouldn't care about what else we've done."

"Stop- _equivocating,_ " Judy bit out. "Sarona wasn't your fault." Was that what this was really about? Had he not dropped it?

Sure enough, as she stood on her own again and got a proper look at him, she could see the guilt. Guilt and blame and this haunted look that had come all the way to the surface.

_"Nick."_

He flinched and looked right at her.

"You stopped. You told me you stopped."

He nodded.

"So what is it?" She pretended to ignore the edge to her voice. "Did someone die, after all?"

"No." He stiffened. "Judy, I would never, _ever_ keep something like that from you. It's too dangerous."

"Then put it behind you. Please." She reached for his paws. "For both of us."

And Nick _recoiled_ , to hide his claws against his palms. His ears were flat. "I told you this would take time."

 _"And I can't just wait for it to go away,"_ Judy burst out. "Not while everyone else is waiting for something to snap. We talk about things so we can fix them, right? We share. And it's hard enough without having to watch Sharon just make things worse. It's hard enough being out here-"

"'Out here' is solid rabbits." Nick looked helpless. "There are reminders of you everywhere. I can show them all how much you mean to me and how careful I'm being for you, but that reminder is always going to be there, too - that I'm a fox and I nearly killed someone. I can't ignore that, Carrots."

_"No."_

"I can't."

"Is Sharon right, then? Was this all for nothing?" Judy stabbed a paw in the vague direction of the kitchen. "Do you want to make this work, or not?"

"You really want this to work?" Nick was on his feet now, too. " _Forgive your parents_ , Judy. Meet your family halfway for once, and drop this assumption that they were ever going to be totally okay with us, with you being with a fox. That's something you do have control over. You can put that behind you whenever you want."

Judy flared. How dare he throw this in her face now? Why wouldn't he accept that his own problems were as valid as hers? "This isn't just about me, Nick. Stop running."

"That's exactly the point," he said, exasperated. "Do you understand what you do to them? Can you not see that stress? This is more than they were prepared to deal with."

"So you're just going to give up."

"Please, Carrots." Nick paced. "I wish - I _so_ wish that they would see, so it would stop hurting you, but it's not up to me, or you. There are some things we just can't influence, sweetheart. I am here for you, because I love you more than anything and that will never change, but it means I'm imposing on them."

"You're _wrong._ "

_"Am I?"_

There was a tentative tap at the door, that might as well have been furious hammering. Judy jumped, ears alert, and got an awkward reminder that their shirtless shouting match wasn't as private as they would have liked.

"Judy? Sweetheart, is everything all right?"

"It's fine, mom." Judy tore her gaze from Nick's and groped for the nearest clothing. It was loose linen. Something she might have slept in. "Just bringing work home."

She said it as she pulled the shirt on, so she wouldn't have to pay attention to Nick's reaction, but she caught it anyway. Of course it was going to be strong. She'd reduced their entire experience together on the case to a single flippant dismissal. When the shirt settled over her shoulders he was staring at the sink by the door, trying to master the sadness so she wouldn't see.

"Nick."

His ears didn't even move. "You should go talk to them. Calm them down."

"I don't want to leave you right now." It was the truth.

"I will keep," he told the sink. "Not going anywhere."

Okay, now they were even. Judy had regretted her snippiness as soon as she'd answered her mother, and now Nick was turning around his reassurances - the things he told her to prove to her he loved her more than anything else - and using them as ammunition. Leverage.

She approached him, and he turned to head her off. One of his paws intercepted hers. It was no embrace. Nothing close to what Judy really wanted just then.

"I don't want you to do permanent damage to your family, Carrots." He twined their fingers together. "I've never experienced anything like this, but even I know It's too valuable for you to throw away."

Judy was close enough to him this time, close enough to see his eyes and ears and pick up his scent, all at once. Nick was angry and frightened and jealous and vulnerable. And, yes, he wanted her to make things right with her family, more than anything.

Right underneath that, though, was something new. Something she'd never sensed from him before. Something he seemed almost afraid to acknowledge, that might have taken this very fight to come to the surface.

He hadn't said anything about how much he'd already come to value being part of her family, too.

Nick had been here for less than a week. But just days in this whirlwind of a farm community had given him something new to appreciate, something he might never have had a chance to know. And her drive to _change things_ \- her stubborn desire to show everyone around her what she and Nick knew, and the rest of them didn't, or couldn't, or refused to - now risked that for the both of them.

Nick knew it. That much, she saw on his face. But the worst part wasn't that he knew what she didn't want to acknowledge. The worst part was that he was still ready to let that go if he had to, if it meant she could keep what she already had. Even if it meant he would never be fully accepted here.

It wasn't leverage. He was just ready to sacrifice again.

Judy was crying when she opened the door.


	9. Chapter 9

_**One week ago.** _

The nighttime hallway was deserted. Quiet enough to pick up the buzz from even the brand-new fluorescents in the hallway, and the whir of the fans in the elevator. It dinged and started back toward street level.

Judy was within days of being able to walk again - and she felt so full of energy she worried she might burst for being confined to the wheelchair until then. She wanted to sprint, and jump for joy and climb the stairs back to Nick's apartment.

 _He was okay._ He was hurting in ways she couldn't share, and was desperately tired and so, so scared for her - but he had promised to see their case through. She'd made him say so, before their time ran out and she'd been forced to leave. That was enough.

Now it was almost over. As soon as Baird was arrested the worst of the stress on him would stop, and they would both be free to focus on correcting the fallout.

Free to stop asking so much of the mammals around them.

Fangmire was at ease, or as at ease as he ever got. Even when he wore street clothing, Judy never saw him lose his parade-ground posture, or his careful attention. Now he was watching the numbers above the elevator door tick down.

Judy rotated the handles on her wheelchair, turning back and forth in place. It was a little too big for her.

This was very technically illegal. Had to be awkward for Fang. Judy wasn't supposed to be this close to Nick, not while the court order her parents had secured was still in effect. It didn't matter that Judy was ready to dismiss it as soon as she was strong enough to make it to the courthouse. Until then, she was risking their careers and their reputations and probably jail time, at least for Nick.

And here was her Captain, going right along with it anyway, burning time while off the clock to make sure she got from the hospital to Nick's apartment and back, pretending not to notice when Nick had opened the door and they'd shared a minor breakdown, right there on his threshold.

Fang had to have some idea. He knew what she and Nick were to each other. He had to guess they'd put private time to good use. But he was also the closest thing they had to a friend on the force. He was discreet. Tactful.

"You reek, Hopps."

Brutally honest. Judy winced.

"I'm sorry, Fang."

He gave her an amused glance. "He's good for you, yeah?"

"It was knowing breach of restraint. You're accessory. Internal affairs could haul you up."

"Well, I'm not going to tell them." Fangmire must have been taking smug lessons from Nick. He shrugged. "You think Wilde is worth the risk. I guess I do, too, otherwise I wouldn't be out here."

Fang hadn't so much as asked her if she was sure she wanted to leave the hospital. With Marki's news that Baird was taking a very personal interest in Judy, the nightmares had sharpened - and Judy knew she wasn't going to sleep again until she knew Nick was all right. Fang had acquired a cruiser from somewhere, and a hospital wheelchair, and that was that.

It was the other extreme. Someone knew about her and Nick, and instead of fear or suspicion or judgement they offered too much support. There was just as much danger in that, if not more. Judy sometimes - okay, always - wondered if they were taking advantage of the trust they'd earned.

"Can I ask you a personal question, Fang?"

The doors opened to the lobby and Judy rolled her chair out. She didn't want him to have to push her - not as long as her own arms still worked.

A smile flicked over the big tiger's face. He made brief, neutral eye contact with the overnight clerk at the front desk and nodded good night. "Seems to be a good time for it."

"Do you know what it's like? Being in love?"

"Just with my job," he said. "You don't make Captain otherwise."

That was the only place she ever saw him, it was true. If he wasn't at his desk or on assignment, he was reading a book in the break room, or working out in the staff gym. She wondered if anything had ever happened between him and Shayler, the doe he'd mentioned wanting to get to know better.

The automatic door detected her wheelchair and opened for them. Fang's cruiser was in one of the public servant spots right at the curb. He held the handles on her chair steady so she could climb into the passenger seat.

She couldn't assume anything about his own relationships, of course, and wouldn't pry. Judy had always pushed boundaries. Had dragged Nick along, too. Their connection was still very much the exception these days, not the rule. But there had to be others out there who felt the same obligation to be present for their partners, no matter what. There had to be others whose relationships pulled on the people around them.

It was one more limit to find. Just as Judy knew she'd been lucky so far, that her own friends had been so trusting, so willing to bend and break rules for them - she also knew that wouldn't always be the case. It was bad enough that they had such outsize impact on the ones who supported them. It would hurt even more when mammals saw what she and Nick shared and didn't agree.

But they'd have to get through that too.

Streetlights slid by.

"Thank you for doing this, Captain. It's more than you ever had to agree to."

Fangmire tapped his ear with a finger and pointed to the forward-facing dashcam. Judy chewed her lip. Whenever the engine was on, the camera was recording - and the microphone picked up interior conversation, too. The message was clear: _careful._

But he grinned, showing teeth. "At least this way I can make sure you don't get into more trouble. Imagine the paperwork."

"Speaking of paperwork, we're going to do yours for the next month."

"There you go. Now we're even."

They were silent for the rest of the trip back to the hospital. Fangmire followed her all the way back to her room, through the lobby and the hallways and past Marki, who nodded hello and betrayed exactly zero surprise at seeing Judy up and about this time of night. Of _course_ she was double-shifting, even the day before a raid.

Her painkillers were waiting for her, and Judy knew it would be a good idea to take them before she tried to sleep. Good as it had felt, her little rendezvous had taken more energy than she was supposed to be exerting right now. And Fangmire was watching. At least he was understanding about it; he'd seen the fallout.

Judy wasn't as scared of the dreams now, though, not with Nick's presence so fresh and close. If there were proof she was making the right decisions, she thought, that was it. She hoped their time together tonight would be enough to get him through what he still had to do. He had promised to finish it, too, and that counted for more than almost anything.

"Will you be there tomorrow?" she asked, while she lay down bed and waited for the drugs to do their work.

"Marki will be. And SWAT." Fangmire stopped short of reassurance they both knew he couldn't safely offer. "If you want, I'll go find him when he's done, too."

She did want it - but it was one more thing he would be doing because of her and Nick.

"I left him to do everything when I should have been there with him," she said. The ceiling was already darkening in her vision. "And now you're having to do so much of it, too."

"I imagine you'd do the same for me, if I was in your place," Fang said. "More important, if it was him in this bed I know you'd do what he asked, too."

She heard him moving for the door.

"Thank you, Fang."

"Get some rest, Hopps." The door spilled light along the drop tiles.

"When you see him," she said, "tell him I love him."

\---

_**Present.** _

They all left her alone, which was surprising. She had the kitchen entirely to herself, where she sat at the end of the room next to the hearth and nursed a cup of stew just for something to do. She had no watch, no phone, no way to tell time. It could have been hours, for all she knew.

And the whole while, Nick's perspective bounced around in her head.

This wasn't his home, but she was willing to bet it had become one of the most important places in his life already. He hadn't grown up in this kitchen, working his way down the low table, a couple seats closer to the end each year. He wouldn't be able to identify the red wax stains from that time Uncle Fred spilled the holiday candles, or count the old notches in the end Judy's brothers had taken to filing until Bonnie caught them and made them sand them out by paw.

But he had to have memories of the place already. Judy had fed him toast and beans his first morning here. He'd been in here right along with her every morning since, in line for coffee, or helping with the day's vegetable washing.

They were happy memories. And from the way he held her those nights, Judy knew he was so grateful to have made them. But he was right. He wasn't a rabbit, and the reminders - from Grandpa Otto, from Sharon's reactions, from the near disaster he'd had to face alone at Sarona - they never went away. None of them were happy with it. But Nick seemed prepared to make his peace with it, if he had to.

Judy felt trapped. Nick didn't deserve to have to compromise. And if that's what her pressure did - if her fixation on some kind of closure was pushing him away from what he was comfortable with, leading them to raised voices, to anger - something had to change.

She didn't want it to have to be him.

The door creaked. Her father came in, and he shut it behind him before he went to the hearth.

"Hi, Jude."

She looked up at him.

"Are you all right? It sounded pretty rough."

That was improvement, at least, over the last time he'd stepped into her relationship. She didn't really owe him anything here, either. But she was talking anyway, because at least part of what Nick had said was right.

"Just unstoppable will and immovable concern." Judy turned to face him across the table as he sat down with his own mug. "It's never been that loud before, though."

"You always did pick fights with foxes."

_"Dad."_

"I'm just saying. That part of you has never changed. You set your mind to something and it gets done, no matter who you're going up against."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Not at all. But it means you try stuff the rest of us don't even think about, sometimes." He eyed her through the steam from their drinks. "Who's who?"

Judy sighed. "Nick worries about me. I'm pretty much all he has, so he ends up really focused on it."

"You know we can tell. I don't know if he knows, but sometimes he watches you like you might break."

That made at least three of them, then. Judy wondered if she just hadn't bothered to look for it, or if she really had spent so much time away from the company of a burrow full of rabbits that she just didn't pick up on some things as quickly anymore.

Bonnie pushed through the door and gave them both a sad smile.

"I figured you two would be here. Are you playing nice?"

They nodded.

"I think Nick has gone to bed, sweetheart. I closed your door so he wouldn't be disturbed."

"Thanks, mom." The phrasing wasn't lost on Judy, and it gave reason to be hopeful again, for the first time all night. "I told dad, I didn't expect we would ever get into it like that. You all deserve better than having to hear us work through things."

Bonnie looked alarmed as she came up beside them to sit next to her husband. "Tell me it's not always that bad."

"No. I've yelled at Nick maybe twice, ever."

"Lucky you two, then."

"And it won't happen again."

Bonnie smiled and bent an ear for Stu. "Everybody fights, sweetheart."

"I trust you to call it if you have to, though," Stu said.

That tenuous little hope guttered. So much for trying to meet them halfway. "Which is another way of saying you don't trust him, then?"

"He's been here for almost a week, hasn't he? Sleeping in your room?"

"Saving your son-in-law's _life?_ "

"That's different."

"Stu."

"Because Wes is a rabbit, right? What will it take for you to stop looking at him as the fox?" Judy levered herself up with the table. "Just _try._ Try to look at him as Nick. The Nick I fell in love with, the Nick who will do and has done everything he can to keep me safe. You've seen what he does for me. What he's learning to do for everyone else. He _loves_ that, dad. Even if none of them want to look past his teeth. Even after what you did to him."

She bit the last words out and turned away, so she wouldn't have to meet their gazes.

What had he thought after she'd left him alone? He'd worried for her, of course. Probably imagined this conversation, too. The case would have been maybe a distant third, even if it deserved more of his attention. She didn't know if she'd gotten through to him.

Bonnie shifted. "Judy, what happened? What brought this on?"

"Work." Judy kept her eyes on the coals. Even if it had been her place to share, she didn't know how she could articulate the conflict Nick was feeling, the balance he was trying so hard to strike, the same way she was. "I can't talk about it."

"I am starting to trust him," Stu said. This time Judy did look around at him. "The way he treats you, the way he's careful around the kits, what he did for Wes - I owe him something for that." He glanced at Bonnie. "But your mother told me what happened between you and Sharon this afternoon. You know we're not the only ones you have to convince, and you know how everyone in this burrow listens."

He sounded just like Nick. Judy resisted that notion, because how could they both want the same things? Yes, her father had made progress, but it wasn't enough. Not if Nick had to stand in the room she shared with him and shy away from her because of how self-conscious being here made him.

She didn't want to believe Nick. Didn't want to consider that there was some arbitrary limit to acceptance. There was a place for him here, somewhere. She'd seen it, in their time in the fields, and folding laundry and drinking coffee so early in the mornings there was still mist on the twilit crops. This was something she knew he deserved - and knew he wanted, now. Maybe it would take more from her, even if it meant going sibling by sibling, and figuring out what it would take for them to understand how important he was to her.

Could she endure that? Could he? Her parents were the first example of how long and fraught a process it could be. They were still so careful, so _scared_ \- even as they stayed here with her, giving her the love and support she wished with all her heart they would learn to share with Nick, too.

They sat at the end of the table for another long time, just as they had all those years ago when Judy was a kit and couldn't sleep. Judy drank her soup. Her mother left Stu's side and came around to sit next to her, and stroke her ears just like she used to. They would turn brief attention to the crackle of the embers in the hearth and the whir of the breeze through the windows, and relax again.

Until new noise broke from deeper in the burrow, noise they couldn't tune out as nightly occurrence: the thump and shatter of breaking glass, the protests of startled rabbits-

And a guttural canine snarl.

\---

_Not like this._

The pain was back in Judy's stomach, for the first time in days, enough to slow her down behind even her parents.

There was a forest of high-strung ears midway down the hallway, where a ring of rabbits was watching Judy's bedroom door, flinching back with every thump and crack from the other side. Sharon was right in the middle of it, and turned as Judy ran up.

"Jude! We thought you were in there-"

 _"Move,"_ Judy gasped.

"What did he do?"

Judy brushed past her sister and got a paw on the door. Another fell on her shoulder - her father, reaching for her - but Judy shrugged him off and twisted the handle.

Nick was already too big for the rabbit-scale bed he was borrowing. Nick in the throes of a night terror threatened to destroy it. He was tangled in his sheets in the light spilling from the doorway, half off the mattress. The baseboard sat at an odd angle. His pillow was in ribbons. His motions had knocked aside the bedside table; the little crockery lamp that had lit the room lay shattered on the rug.

And even as she approached she heard the staccato tearing of claws in fabric. Nick yelped and twisted, as if he were under attack.

_Not like this._

"Nick!"

There was nothing for it. Judy went straight into his arms, right under the sharp claws, under the snapping teeth, to get her paws against his cheeks - and he almost pushed her bodily away anyway. There were noises of protest from the doorway. She tuned them out.

She tried again, shaking his shoulders and trying to control his frantic motions.

_"Nick, please-"_

But it wasn't working. She wasn't strong enough to overpower him like this; she'd risk injury for her trouble. None of the others had moved to help, to do anything, and from where she sat, watching Nick thrash, that left just one option.

She changed her angle, so she approached from above him and he was almost in her lap, and gave him her throat.

It was the ultimate act of trust. Nick could turn on her at any time, kill her with a twist of his jaws from here. He wasn't conscious. He wouldn't know it was her, pushing her muzzle over the top of his, keeping herself close despite his teeth, just inches away. But this had calmed him before, and she had to try.

_Not like this._

_Come back to me._

Her whole family would be watching. Shocked and scandalized and terrified, the lot of them. They would know what this meant. But Judy was done trying to make that fit with what they thought. She loved them all, and valued their perception of her. Their respect. But she had made a commitment to Nick, too, and it was even stronger. She was going to do whatever she had to do to help him, no matter the damage.

It was working. Now Nick was merely tossing instead of thrashing. Judy knelt alongside him and kept herself close, and counted his deep breaths.

Three. Four.

And then his green eyes opened - flashed with disorientation and panic - and widened.

"No."

 _"Nick!"_ She scrambled around. "Nick, it's okay. You're okay."

"No." He stiffened and shook his head in her arms. "No, _no. Never._ Never you."

"Nick."

"Never."

He wrapped her up, in control of his own movements now, but with a speed so much like that he'd shown before that Judy couldn't help a moment of quiet fear. But then his arms were around her, holding her safe, and he was murmuring _never, never_ in her ear.

Judy pressed herself close, with the only reassurance she could give. Her family was still watching the shivering fox on the bedroom rug. She didn't care, but he did. He huddled closer around her, if that were possible, in the reflexive effort to shield her from the attention. All Judy could see of the doorway past his desperate embrace was her parents, and Sharon, standing in the center of the doorway, a pinched expression on her face.

And at her knees-

"Nick."

Winter made it halfway into the room before Sharon caught up and pulled her away. But the little rabbit squirmed in her older sister's arms.

"No!"

"Winter, you can't-"

_"Nick!"_

What she'd picked up on, Judy couldn't tell. But her littlest sister was weeping and pushing against Sharon and reaching for them there on the floor, even as she carried her back to the door. There wasn't fear in her protests. She wasn't crying now because of Nick. She was crying for him.

Sharon had to know. She was looking between all of them. But each of Winter's cries made the fear and love on her own face hurt even more, because she wasn't stopping. She took Winter away and Judy was left there in Nick's arms, wondering if she was ever going to get used to these cracks in her heart.


	10. Chapter 10

None of the others intruded. Sharon and Winter were long gone, and Judy was now aware of only quiet activity on the other side of the open threshold, as her father stood watch, respectfully out of sight, and her mother moved around with firm insistence that everyone else return to their rooms.

"Nick, what was it?"

Nick pushed them closer into the shadow of the bed, to hide them away further. His eyes were still faraway.

"Not again." She pushed against him so he had to look at her, nose to nose. "Nick, don't let it happen again. I can't take it, either."

His own face tightened, as if he were about to cry. "Baird. It was Baird, and I lost it. I tore his throat out."

"It didn't happen, Nick."

He just tightened up around her. "And then it was you, and I couldn't stop in time."

Judy's ears rang. She couldn't let that show. "It didn't happen, Nick. Just a bad dream." She pushed herself up again, to get her chin over his muzzle. Nick's ears flattened.

"That's not who I am. Never."

"I know, sweetheart."

It helped. It was enough that his arms relaxed around her, from desperate cling to something softer. Nick was awake now, totally back in his own head. The pain and the fear were gone, or at least dulled enough. He bent an ear for the door, and she followed his attention.

Bonnie still looked reluctant to get any closer. She stood in the doorway, one paw on the frame.

"Nicholas, are you all right?"

He kept his paws on Judy's sides as he turned his head to nod.

"Judy?"

"I'm fine, mom. We're okay. We'll be along in a minute."

Bonnie nodded, almost to herself. She shared a glance with Stu and they left them there, closing the door softly on their daughter, with her paws against the soft fur of Nick's chest.

\---

They sat in the kitchen, just the four of them, her and Nick across from her parents. It would be a replay of her earlier conversation, Judy anticipated, just later in the evening and much more fraught. They were radiating concern, but the fear was back, too - as strong as it had been since those first nights in the hospital. They couldn't suppress it.

Nick was holding onto her paw, out in the open, in a way that made her suspect he could sense it, too, and wanted to show them he was levelheaded again.

" _'I'm sorry'_ doesn't seem to cover something like this," he said. He seemed to steel himself and turned across the table. "I'll pay to have everything replaced or repaired, of course. More than that - I owe you an explanation."

Bonnie waved the mention of the damage away. "As long as you're not hurt."

"I'm not." Nick's ears flattened. "Thank you, though. This is... new to me, too. It's never been this bad before."

Judy squeezed his paw. "Nick, don't blame yourself for this, too."

He winced and lowered his muzzle, to get at her eye level.

"It doesn't mean you have to tell them anything," she persisted. "Half of it they don't have clearance for anyway."

Nick intercepted her paw as she reached for his neck, but at least he didn't stop her. Instead he pressed her closer. "They deserve to know as much as you do," he said. One ear flicked toward Stu. "If they want to hear it. I made it everyone's problem."

"This has always been about us. I don't want that to change."

"It won't."

"How do you know?"

"I won't _let_ it, Carrots."

It slipped out, before he could stop it. Everyone noticed. Bonnie shifted Judy's way; Stu went stock-still, for hearing that the second time. Nick closed his eyes. "You said it yourself. This can't happen again. Nobody here deserves that, least of all you. But it means they have to know why."

Her father placed careful paws flat on the table and cleared his throat. "He thinks this is important, Judy."

"And so do you," Bonnie added. "Even if you don't want to show it."

Nick's priorities had shifted in an instant, when the situation slipped out of his control and he realized the only way to keep her safe was to clear the air. Her parents were just along for the increasingly perilous ride. It was more than she wanted him to have to do. More than they deserved to go through.

But Judy had started this. Now it was finishing around her.

She squeezed his paws tighter.

\---

And when it was over, when Nick finished yet another honest, meticulous recounting of what happened that night on Sarona Tower and sat there, defeated, Judy felt as if she'd lost another part of herself without realizing.

The confession didn't seem to help. It wouldn't leave him alone. She could see it in the set of his shoulders, in the hackles he still couldn't quite control now that he was talking about it again. Judy wondered if they'd ever be free of it. They could talk about this for months, and it would still mark them.

Stu shifted, in nearly the first move he'd made since Nick started his recollection. Both her parents were cautious and wide-eyed, Judy noticed. "Probation."

"Indefinite probation," Nick clarified. "I made mistakes. As bad as the ones Judy did, if not worse. Atavism. Intimidation."

"Nick."

Nick looked down at himself. "It doesn't matter that it was all because of you, because I wanted to keep you safe. That can't be all of it."

She raised her chin, took breath to fight him on it. He saw it coming and turned away, to her mother.

"Tell her."

"Nicholas is... right, sweetheart." Now Bonnie looked sympathetic more than she did scared, for what that was worth. "What he did was dangerous, for him and for you."

"You think he would ever hurt me?"

"Carrots-" Nick stopped and his ears flicked back.

Judy pounced. "You didn't kill Whistler. You didn't kill Baird."

Her parents flinched.

"You _know_ how close I came," Nick said. "I can't ever risk that again. Bogo, Marki - they all know. You have to know, too."

"And none of them know you like I do," Judy said.

"Then call it the principle of the thing," Nick said, and loaded his words with a little squeeze. "The oath we both swore as police officers. You told me - from a hospital bed, if I recall - that this has to be about more than us. I learned that too, and now I can't ever forget it. And I can't let you pretend it never happened, no matter how much that hurts. There's too much risk."

Even now, even with all the cards on the literal table, it was like Nick didn't want to let it go. He hadn't ever wanted to, it seemed. All the time spent deflecting or avoiding discussing the case - it wasn't just because she'd brought him home to her family. It wasn't just because he felt her bond with them was more important than what they'd experienced together. It wasn't even because he simply didn't want to hurt her with the knowledge.

Nick wanted to live with it, Judy realized. Or at least felt he needed the reminder of how close he'd come to losing control - even if that meant taking on the stress forever.

But now that she knew that, she knew could help him.

"Then we won't forget," she said.

Nick looked so much like he wanted to believe her. He stared at their paws. "I need to take a walk," he said. "For the rest of the night, I think."

 _"What?"_ Judy looked up. He wasn't suggesting-

That guilt in his look sharpened. "There's a limit, sweetheart, and I'm way past it right now. I won't stress your family like that."

Judy's parents shifted again in her peripheral vision, this time to look at each other. Judy had to wonder if _sweetheart_ was better or worse than _Carrots_. Nick didn't seem to hesitate anymore.

"The moon's full," Nick persisted. "Right?"

"It is," Stu said. "Nick-" He closed his mouth, opened it again. "I'm not going to make you leave."

"Good," Judy said. She barely registered that her father had called Nick by name.

Stu flickered. "But I understand why you want to, and- I do appreciate that you would do that for my family, too. If it would make you more comfortable."

Nick drew himself up a bit. "For tonight, it would."

"You're not leaving," Judy told Nick.

"Just camping out. There is a difference. It's a nice night."

And there was something to the way he still held her paws. He wanted her to see it. If she was with him - then he wasn't leaving. They would just be giving the rest of them the room they deserved. They would have a chance to talk, to start repairing what they'd so literally damaged tonight.

It was enough to stay her protests. She owed everyone that much.

"Then I'm coming with you."

Nick got up, and helped her to her own suddenly tired feet. Her parents stayed where they were, even as they crossed the kitchen. Nick opened the back door so the warm breeze ruffled their fur.

"That night you left the hospital," Stu said. Judy saw him watching them. "This is why, isn't it?"

Nick's paws were on her shoulders. He held her eyes for a long time before he answered.

"They aren't just my decisions anymore," he said, and looked back at her father. "And Judy should never have to pay for them."

\---

They crossed the deserted patio, away from the few visible lights of the nighttime burrow and down the path. Judy led Nick past the fields and barns, up onto the grassy ridge to the northwest, where the rest of the farm spread out below them in the moonlight. The only other thing up here were the berry bushes - out of the farm's rigorous crop grids, so they were probably someone's experiment. They stirred in the breeze.

She wanted to wait for him to say something, because she really didn't know where to start. The way Nick had laid it all out, their big pain point was supposed to be over and done with. But he was still quiet. Still working something over before he committed to it. She knew the signs, and wondered why she hadn't seen them earlier, before his unconscious mind went and forced the issue.

At least now that they had found a place to sit, overlooking the whole scene, he was keeping her close. She was grateful for his careful paws.

"You were okay with that climb," Nick said. It was a question.

"I'm fine, Nick." The pain from her injury had faded as quickly as it appeared, and she didn't want to focus on it now.

Instead, she looked up at the vast expanse of the country sky. This was another thing she hadn't realized she missed - underneath the light pollution of the city, she could see maybe the occasional twinkle. Out here, the dense clusters of the galactic core looked like they were painted on.

"It's beautiful," he murmured.

"It's hard to even see the constellations with all the other stars in the way," Judy said. "Farm country problems, right? We used to pitch little blanket tents out here in the summer and make up our own versions."

"Mm." She felt his head tilt against hers. "I guess the stars are pretty, too."

Well, she'd walked into that one. She felt her ears trying to lift, and felt herself falling just a little bit more in love with the fox beside her.

"I smell like you," he said, and rubbed his muzzle with a pad. "More than usual."

"I had to get you out of it somehow," Judy said, and shook her head when the alarm started to leak into his expression. She reached for his paw again. "Don't say it. I know you don't like it, but I'm not going to sit there and watch you when there's something I can do."

Nick tilted his head further, so she would fit under his long muzzle, against his throat. He'd pulled her right into his lap. "You were always reckless."

"I love you. That's reckless."

"I know, and sometimes the reminders are almost enough to hurt." His voice was muffled.

She reached up to brush his tentative ears, automatically seeking out the little notch in the edge that was the sole physical mark of his experience.

"You're not a bad mammal, Nick. It doesn't matter what the transcripts say, or what Bogo will make you go through when we go back. I know. So do you."

"But there are things nobody should be elevated over." Nick sighed. "You know that, too."

"You deserve better."

"Marki told me something, before Sarona. To think about what you would want." Nick squeezed her. "And I know you want to forgive me. But there are two sides to it. I think I need this reminder."

He'd feel her claws tightening behind his ears. The sacrifice was rooted in her safety. It always was. But that meant she had to bear it as much as he did.

"You make it sound like you're going to un-learn lessons," she said. "I know you're smarter than that. I think you do, too."

The protest almost started again. Judy pressed herself closer to cut him off. "You've seen what happens if you hold onto the pain. It came back again, in no time at all. It's okay to separate them, Nick. You need to separate them. For your sake. I'll help you."

Nick's objection faded under her careful paws. Yes, he did smell like her, and she wasn't making it any better. It was for the best they were out here for this, away from all the attention. But at least he was relaxed. She could see him following his nose, toward the dim row of berry bushes to their left.

Judy left the crook of his neck long enough to find the ripest blueberries she could. She gave Nick half of the pawful, and they nestled together to watch the slow wheel of the stars above them, and listen to the night insects.

"Thank you," he said eventually, after he'd eaten all of his, and convinced her into surrendering all but two of hers.

"Don't tell anyone." They were really perfect. Firm in her paws, and oh so sweet. "These are probably for some harvest competition in a couple of weeks."

Nick had meant for talking some sense into him, and they both knew it. He kissed the base of one of her ears.

"You're sure."

He was so _careful_. Judy looked up at him. He was staring straight up this time, taking in the stars, almost holding his breath. Nick was ready to commit to what she needed him to do, all over again. He just wanted to know she'd be there to hold him up.

In response, Judy reached up and held out her last berry, right at the tip of his muzzle. She saw his nose twitch. His breath warmed her paw.

"I'm glad our idea of over-the-top storybook romance never changes," he said.

"Just eat it, fox." Judy swallowed the lump in her throat. "I'm sure."

Nick raised his head to take the berry between his teeth. Judy felt his tongue flicker over her fingertips.

"If you do this for me," he said, "you have to do something for yourself, too."

_Oh._

Judy found herself chasing the warm simplicity of Nick's chest again. "My parents."

"We've done enough damage, Carrots." He nuzzled her, to counter the tension in his voice. "You saw them tonight. What I did to them."

But the minor damage and temporary fright of tonight was nowhere near what they'd done to keep Nick from her.

Except now it was her turn to feel the objection die in her throat, even as she pushed herself up over Nick, to look down at his hopeful face.

No, it wasn't the same. It never would be.

But it didn't have to be.

Her family had welcomed Nick in. Let him eat dinner with kits he's never met before, and sleep in their daughter's room. They'd sat and listened and accepted his explanations when he'd destroyed property in a bout of unconscious terror.

Now, her mother worried for Nick instead of because of him. Her father appreciated his motivations, and the reasoning for his decisions. They devoted more time and concern to Nick - and to her - than they had any obligation to, as leaders of a family of hundreds.

He was wearing the same clothes he had the day he arrived - dirtied from hard, honest work and now clean again, because he'd been here long enough to become part of the burrow's laundry cycle. Long enough to become an amateur farmer, and dishwasher, and to eat so much from the tiny plates it fascinated the little ones, and to stop tripping against the floors that probably still felt too cramped for a tall fox.

Long enough to save members of her family from life-threatening hail, with little regard for the risk to himself. Long enough get into blazing arguments the likes of which they'd never experienced together. Long enough to remind the whole burrow that yes, that was a fox Judy had brought home to them.

Long enough to fall in love with her all over again, and with the experience and the place he'd never had the chance to know before.

And through all that, Stu and Bonnie Hopps hadn't interfered. The caution might still be there, and the bursts of unease when the volatile peaks and troughs of Judy's relationship spilled over to stress their family, but that wasn't the behavior of lasting fear. Her parents wouldn't have let this continue if the week hadn't taught them what Nick meant to her - and what she meant to him.

Judy blinked against the tears. It was understanding, and because it wasn't packaged the way she wanted it, she'd been willfully blind to just how much they'd given themselves. They had earned this from her, just as much as she now knew she had from them.

"I need to talk to them, don't I?"

Nick nuzzled up against her again, and the relief coming off of him was enough to make her catch her breath. "To heal."

She tilted her head, to press his muzzle against hers, and tasted blueberries on his lips.

_To heal._


	11. Chapter 11

When Judy and Nick finally made their way down the ridge in the soft morning light, it was to confront a fresh layer of concern on top of the controlled chaos of the kitchen. She stared around at a roomful of ears and eyes that were trying not to pay close attention - and plenty that were paying close attention anyway.

The Judy of last night might have laid into some of the more blatant of her siblings right there. But her new mindset had to be different, if she was going to show she'd learned anything from the stress she had brought on her family. She decided it would be best to just keep her head down and help where they could, as usual. The burrow thrived on its routine; it would recover fastest if they didn't antagonize things any more. Judy heard Nick swallow anyway as they went for food.

"Don't let them get to you," she murmured.

He glanced down at her and lied right through his sarcastic grin. "When have I ever?"

They had half a cantaloupe's worth of slices between them, Nick gave her most of his coffee and Judy doubled back to exercise prerogative as older sister and skim a couple pieces of toast off one of her little brother's platters after all. They ate while they walked out to the fields, where her father and one of his work teams had already pulled out a train of UTVs, loaded with supplies.

Maybe it was just luck, but the faces out here were a welcome relief from those in the kitchen. There was something equalizing about the fields. Yes, word of what had happened last night spread like wildfire. Some of these aunts and uncles and brothers and sisters had seen it firsthand.

But those few who seemed wary of Nick right now also knew him for who he was and the hard work he did - and most of them seemed willing to put whatever personal thoughts they had aside, to work toward common goals. The drama of his and Judy's personal lives didn't matter out here.

She could feel Nick relaxing as he sensed it, too. It was enough for him - and so it would be enough for her, too.

Even Stu smiled as they approached, and gave both of them a careful, personal look, as if making sure they were recovering from the night's events.

"Can you help Chas with the tillers again?"

"Sure." Judy pointed Nick toward the machines.

"Where were these when we were digging furrows by paw a couple days ago?"

"Different crops. The newer ones need more careful tending."

"Oh."

Nick was a quick study here too; Judy watched him master the basics in a few short minutes and follow along in her brother's wake. Stu took a break from where he was measuring seed to stand alongside her. He waited until the others had moved on.

"Nick's going to make a good farmer, with that attitude."

"He loves it here," Judy said. "More than he expected to."

Stu looked between both of them. "Last night did some good, I take it."

"We're sorting it out," she said. They were talking through the bumps - okay, the craters - the way they'd learned to. The fact that her father was so concerned about it wasn't lost on Judy. She took a steadying breath. "Dad, I need to talk to you and mom again. I have some apologies to make."

"Then we'll talk." He reached over and ruffled the fur between her ears, the way he always had when she was a kit learning to farm herself. "It might have to be another late night, but we'll make it work."

She helped her father with the seed funnels and they minded the little planting machine together, and it was almost like Judy had never left the farm to become a police officer at all. It was her and her family and Nick, and right then she would have been happy to keep it that way forever. It had seemed insurmountable just a few short days ago, and had turned worse - and then tantalizing and close - even faster. Judy, ever the outsider, the one who pushed ahead and followed her dreams even at the risk of alienating her own family - hadn't felt this accepted in a long time.

And then, as they went for a refill on seeds, another UTV pulled up. Sharon looked out at them.

"I bear tidings from the kitchen," she said. "Lunch is on the patio today."

Stu turned and whistled to the rabbits up and down the field, then pointed to the house. Nick was with them, and Judy watched him go just a touch more guarded when he realized who the new arrival was.

"Ride with me," Sharon said. "I want to talk."

"Dad, is there room for Nick in one of the other trucks?"

"Sure thing." Stu took the seed scoop from Judy and motioned. "Go on, but don't take too long."

Sharon looked serious, so Judy climbed into the passenger seat and let her sister drive. She took them further from the burrow, out toward the lake. Their father's team had been the furthest out here this morning; they had the shoreline road to themselves.

Sharon took it slow, so the electric motor didn't intrude on the sound of the breeze.

"You're serious about this fox. About Nick."

Oh. Judy cooled a bit further. "What was your first clue?"

"No, it's-" Sharon sighed. "I'm just trying to understand. You're _insurance liability_ levels of reckless, Jude, but even you wouldn't get that close to a fox unless it meant something."

"We're police officers. Partners. And working in Zootopia isn't the same as sheriff duties around Bunnyburrow. Perspective changes after a while there."

"That's what we're learning." Sharon braked them to a halt, where they could see the little island where they'd spent so much time as kids.

Judy watched sunlight lance off the lake. She'd stepped away from so much of her family's life when she'd gone to the city. It had started sooner than that, really, in the good year or so before she was even accepted to the academy. When Judy had realized she had more than just a shot, she took it, even as it came at the expense of other things in her life. Sharon had drifted.

But they'd never been pushed apart. Not until now.

"Did you ever fall in love?" she asked.

Sharon eyed her and leaned forward to brace her paws on the steering wheel. "Grant and I share an apartment in Sunnygrove, when we're not working. He's a lawyer. We bonded over our shared lack of free time." She looked down the road. "He'd be here for a long weekend, too, if he wasn't neck-deep in his own paperwork."

It was so happy and domestic, so normal; and here Judy had crashed into her childhood home like a meteor, daring everyone else to see things her way. "Sharon. That's good."

"It's what I know." Sharon smiled and dug a claw at the steering wheel. "After you left for the academy, things quieted way down around here. It was easy to just live life, or, I guess, to forget that you've always done things so differently."

"I wasn't the only one who caused chaos," Judy said.

"Well, you touched off plenty this time," Sharon reminded her, and then when Judy's ears dropped: "Jude, I watched the whole thing last night. I almost tried to stop you, when I realized what you were about to do. It still scares a lot of them."

 _Them._ Not _us._ "Nick said himself it's never happened to him before," Judy said. "Our last case was stressful, like nothing else. This isn't crop blight, or even surgery or a code blue. It's a rare thing, but mammals get murdered and commit murder in our line of work, and we can't see things like that and expect to just wake up tomorrow like nothing changed."

"You're not wrong, Jude." Sharon raised her paws. "Listen, I need to apologize. Properly. What you did for him-" She tilted her head to catch Judy's eye. "I saw how you looked at him, too. How much he _needed_ you. You two are good for each other. I didn't know how to see that before - or more likely I just didn't want to. I let old thinking get in the way. I'm sorry."

Judy had never done epiphanies on a small scale. It took a deadly shootout to show her what her partner had become to her. A series of near-deadly confrontations with more dangerous criminals to show them both what they risked for that connection. The problems that followed them home might not be as threatening, but they were tense and stressful for everyone around them all the same.

"Back in the kitchen - I was putting us before everyone else," Judy said. "Asking too much of everyone, to make them change to suit someone they barely knew. I'm sorry I put you through that again."

"Reckless, remember? You never changed," Sharon said. She brought the truck around and started them back home. Her ears angled again, in that conspiratorial way of close sisters that Judy hadn't realized she'd missed so much. "I won't guilt you about how it took property damage to get everyone on the same page this time."

Judy rolled her eyes. "Thank you."

"And Winter," Sharon said. "I'm sorry for what I said in the kitchen, too. I remember you said there were things she knew that I didn't. Turns out you were right."

Judy shook her head. "I understand why you said it. It's the same reason you had to step in last night."

"I just want what's best for her. For all of them."

"I know."

"But she loves him all the same," Sharon said. "You're right again: She did ask about him. She wouldn't sleep."

"Nick would love to see her again, before we go."

"I'll come along this time." Sharon looked guilty. "So no one else panics."

"It hasn't been that bad," Judy said. She looked out at the fields, where some of her family would still be out working. "I owe them all a lot for that."

"Do Mom and Dad have the whole story?"

Judy thought of the concern on her parents' faces when they'd first seen Nick in their daughter's recovery ward, and how it had become the same concern they'd shown for him, when he'd confessed to them the things he'd done to keep Judy safe. Her throat closed.

"More or less. I'm warming up the apologies on you. Sorry."

"Happy to help, I guess."

Sharon drove them for a while in silence. Judy had almost started to relax.

"While we're on the subject, I take it Mom's not bugging you about grandkits the way she is with me."

Judy squeezed one eye shut. "We are _not_ on the subject, and I am not thinking about that, Sharon."

"Not right this second, sure. You'd have to adopt."

"I'm serious."

"Oh, you really haven't," Sharon was fascinated again, and it was getting distressingly medical. "You know that foxes-"

 _"Stop!"_ Judy waved her paws. "Eyes on the road. Get your head out of the gutter."

Sharon relented and left it there, but Judy was sure her sister was filing away the ammo to make her squirm the next time they met up.

And now she was thinking about it, too. But then she was allowed to think about it.

Now there was a breathless future, even if the notion of children was almost entirely beside the point. Judy wasn't even remotely ready to consider that. She loved a certain fox, and a certain career, and that was more than enough for now. There was something more important there, something that said maybe there was a day out there on the horizon, where they'd be back here amid a new crowd of little ears running around, where Nick would be as much a fixture as any of the family.

Or maybe it was already starting, she thought as Sharon pulled them up to the edge of the lawn, where the kits were scattered among the shade, munching on sandwiches and vegetables. There was a splash of tall orange and russet on the patio among the rest of the earth-toned rabbits, right next to her father, and as Judy watched him smile and wave at her and point to the empty seat between them, Judy thought Nick might have already figured out how to belong.

\---

They postponed their talk late into that night, on account of a bit of kit-based baking chaos Judy was surprised hadn't happened sooner. Before they sat down, they had to pitch in to help clean the flour that had coated just about every surface on that end of the kitchen.

But eventually the last of it was swept up and washed off paws and they had the room to themselves again. Sharon bundled Winter out - who wasn't a mastermind, for once - and Judy's parents sat at the end of the table.

"Something to drink, you two?"

Judy shook her head and held up a mug of tea. "I'm okay. Thanks."

Nick glanced over at the bottle and held up the claws of his finger and thumb. "Just a little one. Thank you."

Judy had never seen Nick drink anything as strong as her father's preferred whisky. It must have been a respect thing.

"Local stuff," Stu said. "You'll have to tell me how it compares to what you get in the city."

Nick tipped his head back and smacked his lips. "That's good. Nice and smooth."

Bonnie joined them with her own tea, and for a moment they sat in a silence more companionable and warm than Judy ever could have imagined they'd share. _Exhibit A,_ as it were. And they were all watching her.

"I don't know what I was expecting when I got here." She jumped right in. "But I made some mistakes these last few weeks, and I need to fix them."

Nick had an encouraging paw on her shoulder, above the table again. Her parents looked on. Bonnie was suppressing a smile.

"I was out of line, reacting the way I did when I was in the hospital. The way I did when I dropped the news that Nick would be coming." Judy swallowed. "I've done more yelling in ten days than I have in several years, I think."

"You're living your life, sweetheart," her mother said. She glanced at Stu. "And we can't blame you for that. We're just along for the ride, and learning a lot ourselves."

Stu nodded. "A lot."

"You gave us a chance," Judy said. "More than one. And I was so focused on some... ideal. It was more perfect than real life is, and I was supposed to know that already."

"That's right," Stu said. "I remember now, you wrote a speech about it."

"I've committed it to memory, you know," Nick said.

"No you haven't."

He nudged her. "Have too. The important parts."

Stu cleared his throat and looked Nick in the eye. "Nick, I hope you can forgive me for what I did to you."

"What we did," Bonnie said.

"Going to court was short-sighted of us. It took us both longer to figure out what you mean to Judy than it should have. We're going to be a long time making that right."

Nick held Judy's eyes for a long, quiet moment.

"I can, and I have." He looked between them and held up a paw. "I wanted to tell you about it, too. Properly, before we have to go." He closed his mouth. Opened it. "I'm in love with your daughter."

Stu smiled, really _smiled_ , and Bonnie beamed, and Judy felt her fur stand on end. She groped for his paw. Nick almost laughed at their reactions.

"Crazy, right? But it's true. Judy is the most important rabbit to ever happen to me." He looked over at her, and Judy wanted to kiss him right there. "Since I learned that, all I've ever wanted to do is give her everything. Stay as close to her side as I can. And knowing I might screw something up, knowing I might do something to lose her - it keeps me up sometimes." His lips twitched. "Wakes me up sometimes, like you saw. But you - your whole family - put up with all of it, and for that all I can do is thank you, and do my best to prove it was for good reason."

Stu swallowed, hard. "It gets harder and harder to watch your kits grow up. That's part of why bunny families have so many of them - we like feeling that feeling. But nobody ever brought a fox home."

Bonnie nodded in agreement. "I don't know if she pushed you, or if you pushed her, but you two have something so far from anything we ever knew."

"I didn't want to square it at first." Stu smiled over at Judy. "To look at things your way, Jude. But we should have expected it. You've always done that."

Judy had to swipe at her eyes. "I shouldn't have dragged the whole family through it."

"There are better ways," her mother allowed. "Especially after last night. But none of them are quite your way of doing things. Learning that is part of growing up - for all of us."

"They will all have to make up their own minds," her father said. "We can't step in. You saw how that worked the first time. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I hope you can forgive me, too."

"Dad." Judy's vision was immediately misty again. She couldn't hug him from this side of the table. Nick would have to do.

"And until then, Nick-" Stu's voice was rough, watching her reaction. "You already work as hard as any of them, and that carries a lot of weight with folks around here. And more important, you're already showing them how to see things differently." He glanced around at all of them. "Starting with me. I believe what you said about Judy. You keep her happy, and as safe as you can - and you'll always have a place here."


	12. Chapter 12

After that, Judy really didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay curled up with her fox forever in their too-small bed, and at the noisy breakfast table, and out in the fresh dirt of the fields among her family that one last time, and wrapped up in her parents' arms under the train station awning that evening, as the rain hammered itself into mist on the concrete, so hard they had to lean close to hear each other.

Her mother squeezed her tight. "You travel safe in this."

"The train's on rails, Mom. We'll be fine." Judy supposed that was just motherly anxiousness.

"And call us with progress, won't you? The doctors said you would need a few weeks at least before you were back to running around."

Stu's ears twitched at that. "And be careful once you are."

Parts of them sounded like Nick, came the thought as he folded her in a hug.

"I'll make sure she sticks to the plan," Nick said.

And parts of him sounded like them. Judy had to wonder who had changed more during this little vacation.

She stood back and watched as Nick put their suitcases down long enough to return her mother's careful embrace, and her father's strong pawshake. She could only see the barest trace of the caution they'd shown the first time they'd met him.

"Thank you, Nicholas."

Stu nodded. "Come back when you can. Both of you. Did you get your tools, Jude?"

"They're in my suitcase."

"And the seeds?"

"I have those," Nick said. "Thanks for the green beans especially."

Judy half-turned as Sharon came up behind her and wrapped her up.

"Go safe, Jude."

"Always. Keep an ear on Winter for me."

Sharon looked down, where Winter was holding onto her leg. "Shouldn't be a problem."

The little rabbit let go, though, and switched targets. A bushy red tail cushioned her fall.

"Nick."

Nick looked down - and this time, instead of pulling his tail closer around himself, he smiled and crouched down to her level to hold out a paw.

Sharon made a face down at her little sister. "She'd go with you if we let her."

"She could sit on your desk," Nick said. He cocked an eyebrow up at Judy. "Hold your paper clips."

"Maybe next time." Judy crouched down and disengaged Winter from Nick's fingers. "You stay out of the worst of the trouble, okay?"

Winter looked between her and Nick and nodded, entirely too serious.

Sharon looked Nick up and down again, just as she had the first time they'd spoken at length, and held out her paw.

"Keep my other sister out of the worst of the trouble, too."

Nick took it. "I'll do my best."

"Thank you, Nick. Let us know the next time you're coming back. I'll be here. Might bring back Grant, too."

Then the whistle was blowing, and they had to rush for the train, right through the pouring rain. Nick gave her his free paw. Goodbyes followed them, and Bonnie's urging that they call when they got in. The door cut off most of it, and the train lurched into motion. Judy tipped against Nick.

He guided her up the stairs at the front of the car, to the observation dome, and flicked on the illuminated 'out of service' sign on the entrance. Judy almost scowled. Almost.

Up here, the rain sheeted off the wraparound glass, even louder than the train. Nick stared around at the downpour while she stowed their bags.

"It's strange turning around and not seeing another rabbit."

"All on our own again," Judy agreed. She jumped up to stand on one of the bench seats around the perimeter of the observation deck, to be on his eye level. "You're not going to get lonely, are you?"

Nick held her shoulders. His smile was gradual. "I talked my favorite one into coming with me. I'll be all right."

Her own smile wobbled. "I am going to miss them. I always do."

Nick would, too. But he didn't have to say it. He leaned forward to kiss her, and she pressed herself against his reassuring warmth.

They'd survived. Everyone had survived them. And along the way Judy had gained an intimate new appreciation for the concept of _fallout_. She felt old and tired and more cautious and wiser and _loved_ \- especially loved.

Nick sat beside her, where they could lean back and watch the train outpace the storm. Bunnyburrow dwindled, sitting underneath the wall of thunderheads.

"Leaving in the storm. If I didn't know better, I'd say that was some kind of omen."

"But you do know better. We've been teaching you how to farm this whole week," Judy said. "It's good. The crops like it."

"I hope it doesn't hail on anybody."

And behind the storm was the sunset, that painted the whole sky orange and purple. It would get brighter before it got darker tonight. They didn't always get to see that from the city, where the weather was more carefully controlled.

From one thing Judy knew to the other. Leaving the raucous family home for the smaller, quieter one she'd built with Nick herself. Returning to that work - to the real world - was going to be a bit of a shock. It would be strange to sit down at a desk, rather than pick up a spade. Lunch would come out of a microwaved box again. She'd be able to sleep in.

"Now what?"

Nick had his muzzle against the top of her head. "No idea. Duty muster in the morning, and then depending on Bogo's mood either a mountain or an avalanche of paperwork."

"It'll be like we never went on vacation."

She felt his breath huff out against her ears. "The cynicism is my job."

"I don't know, I like honest, happy Nick Wilde pretty well."

"I'm told he likes you, too."

Judy turned so they were nose to nose, and he held her cheeks still in his paws. She pushed into the contact.

"I'm right here with you. No matter what happens. And I'm going to be safer about it."

Nick tilted his head at her. "You learned from your mistakes just like I did, Carrots. But I hope you never lose that spark."

"The one that made me charge off without backup?"

"The one that made you decide to bring me back here and teach everyone involved something new," Nick said. "I'm never going to forget any of this. I don't think you are, either."

No, she wasn't about to forget. They'd started to earn something - and give something - they would keep for the rest of their lives. They'd found some seemingly impossible balance, where nothing demanded fixing anymore. There was no injustice to correct, no sense that something was out of place.

For now. For all she knew it would collapse the moment they arrived back at work.

But - for now - Judy was content to sit back with Nick in the fading sunlight and enjoy what they'd found; to nestle closer to him and let the train speed them toward the city, toward whatever came next.

Toward home.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://falke-scribblings.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> [chronology](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1yPmpmdo39SmiRNC4BJVv2PAWi7fxBoP5FWba9n8s3qg/edit?pref=2&pli=1)


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